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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
I  SAN  DIEGO 


Pausanias  and  Cleonice.-^PAUSANIAS. 


I   I 


PAUSAN lUS 


THE  SPARTAN 


Ji2a!^t^>^ 


Sir  EDWARDy  BULWER  LYTTON,  Bart, 


CHICAGO   AND   NEW  YORK: 

BELFORD,  CLARKE    &   COMPANY, 

Publishers. 


TROWS 

PRINTrNG  AND  BOOKBIMDINQ  COMPANY, 

^EW  YORK. 


DEDICATION. 

TO 

THE  REVEREND  BENJAMIN  HALL  KENNEDY.  D.D., 

CANON  OF  ELY,  AND   REGIUS    PROFESSOR  OF  GREEK  IN  THE  UNI* 
VERSITY    OF   CAMBRIDGE. 


My  dear  Dr.  Kennedy, — Revised  by  your  helpful  hand, 
and  corrected  by  your  accurate  scholarship,  to  whom  may 
these  pages  be  so  fitly  inscribed  as  to  that  one  of  their  au- 
thor's earliest  and  most  honored  friends,*  whose  generous 
assistance  has  enabled  me  to  place  them  before  the  public  in 
their  present  form  ? 

It  is  fully  fifteen,  if  not  twenty,  years  since  my  father 
commenced  the  composition  of  an  historical  romance  on  the 
subject  of  Pausanias,  the  Spartan  Regent.  Circumstances, 
which  need  not  here  be  recorded,  compelled  him  to  lay  aside 
the  work  thus  begun.  But  the  subject  continued  to  haunt  his 
imagination  and  occupy  his  thoughts.  He  detected  in  it  sin- 
gular opportunities  for  effective  exercise  of  the  gifts  most 
peculiar  to  his  genius  ;  and  repeatedly,  in  the  intervals  of 
other  literary  labor,  he  returned  to  the  task  which,  though 
again  and  again  interrupted,  was  never  abandoned.  To  that 
rare  combination  of  the  imaginative  and  practical  faculties 
which  characterized  my  father's  intellect,  and  received  from 
his  life  such  varied  illustration,  the  story  of  "  Pausanias,"  in- 
deed, briefly  as  it  is  told  by  Thucydides  and  Plutarch,  ad- 
dressed itself  with  singular  force.     The  vast  conspiracy  of 

*  The  late  Lord  Lytton,  in  his  unpublished  autobiographical  mem- 
oirs, describing  his  contemporaries  at  Cambridge,  speaks  of  Dr.  Kennedj 
as  a  "  young  giant  of  learning." 


^  DEDTCA  TION". 

the  Spartan  Regent,  had  it  been  successful,  would  have 
changed  the  whole  course  of  Grecian  history.  To  any  stu- 
dent of  political  phenomena,  but  more  especially  to  one 
who,  during  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  had  been  per 
sonally  engaged  in  active  politics,  the  story  of  such  a 
conspiracy  could  not  fail  to  be  attractive.  To  the  stu- 
dent of  human  nature  the  character  of  Pausanias  himself 
offers  sources  of  the  deepest  interest;  and,  in  the  strange 
career  and  tragic  fate  of  the  great  conspirator,  an  imagina- 
tion fascinated  by  the  supernatural  must  have  recognized  re- 
markable elements  of  awe  and  terror.  A  few  months  pre- 
vious to  his  death,  I  asked  my  father  whether  he  had  aban- 
doned all  intention  of  finishing  his  romance  of  "  Pausanias." 
He  replied,  "  On  the  contrary,  I  am  finishing  it  now,"  and 
entered,  with  great  animation,  into  a  discussion  of  the  subject 
and  its  capabilities.  This  reply  to  my  inquiry  surprised  and 
impressed  me ;  for,  as  you  are  aware,  my  father  was  then  en- 
gaged in  the  simultaneous  composition  of  two  other  and  very 
different  works,  "  Kenelm  Chillingly  "  and  the  "  Parisians." 
It  was  the  last  time  he  ever  spoke  to  me  about  "  Pausanias  ;  " 
but  from  what  he  then  said  of  it  I  derived  an  impression  that 
the  book  was  all  but  completed,  and  needed  only  a  few  finish- 
ing touches  to  be  ready  for  publication  at  no  distant  date. 

This  impression  was  confirmed,  subsequent  to  my  father's 
death,  by  a  letter  of  instruction  about  his  posthumous  papers 
which  accompanied  his  will.  In  that  letter,  dated  1856,  spe- 
cial allusion  is  made  to  "  Pausanias  "  as  a  work  already  far 
advanced  toward  its  conclusion. 

You,  to  whom,  in  your  kind  and  careful  revision  of  it,  this 
unfinished  work  has  suggested  many  questions  which,  alas  ! 
I  can  not  answer,  as  to  the  probable  conduct  and  fate  of  its 
fictitious  characters,  will  readily  understand  my  reluctance  to 
surrender  an  impression  seemingly  so  -well  justified.  I  did 
not,  indeed,  cease  to  cherish  it  until  reiterated  and  exhaus- 
tive search  had  failed  to  recover  from  the  "  wallet  "  wherein 
Time  "  puts  alms  for  oblivion  "  more  than  those  few  imper- 
fect fragments  which,  by  your  valued  help,  are  here  arranged 
in  such  order  as  to  carry  on  the  narrative  of  "  Pausanias," 
with  no  solution  of  continuity,  to  the  middle  of  the  second 
volume. 

There  the  manuscript  breaks  off.  Was  it  ever  continued 
further?  I  know  not.  Many  circumstances  induce  me  to 
believe  that  the  conception  had  long  been  carefully  completed 
in  the  mind  of  its  author ;  but  he  has  left  behind  him  only  a 


DEDrCA  TIOAT.  5 

very  meagre  and  imperfect  indication  of  the  course  which, 
beyond  the  point  where  it  is  broken,  his  narrative  was  in- 
tended to  follow.  In  presence  of  this  fact,  I  have  had  to 
choose  between  the  total  suppression  of  the  fragment,  and  the 
publication  of  it  in  its  present  form.  My  choice  has  not 
been  made  without  hesitation  ;  but  I  trust  that,  from  many 
points  of  view,  the  following  pages  will  be  found  to  justify  it. 
Judiciously  (as  I  cannot  but  think)  for  the  purposes  of  his 
fiction,  my  father  has  taken  up  the  stor)^  of  "  Pausanias  "  at 
a  period  subsequent  to  the  battle  of  Plataea ;  when  the  Spar- 
tan Regent,  as  Admiral  of  the  United  Greek  Fleet  in  the 
waters  of  Byzantium,  was  at  the  summit  of  his  power  and 
reputation.  Mr.  Grote,  in  his  great  work,  expresses  the 
opinion  (which  certainly  cannot  be  disputed  by  unbiased 
readers  of  Thucydides)  that  the  victory  of  Plataea  was  not  at- 
tributable to  any  remarkable  abilities  on  the  part  of  Pau- 
sanias. But  Mr.  Grote  fairly  recognizes  as  quite  exceptional 
the  fame  and  authority  accorded  to  Pausanias,  after  the 
battle,  by  all  the  Hellenic  States,  the  influence  which  his 
name  commanded,  and  the  awe  which  his  character  inspired. 
Not  to  the  mere  fact  of  his  birth  as  a  HeracleicI,not  to  the  lucky 
accident  (if  such  it  were)  of  his  success  at  Platasa,  and  cer- 
tainly not  to  his  undisputed  (but  surely  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon) physical  courage,  is  it  possible  to  attribute  the  peculiar 
position  which  this  remarkable  man  so  long  occupied  in  the 
estimation  of  his  contemporaries.  For  the  little  that  we  know 
about  Pausanias  we  are  mainly  dependent  upon  Athenian 
writers,  who  must  have  been  strongly  prejudiced  against  him. 
Mr.  Grote,  adopting  (as  any  modern  historian  needs  must  do) 
the  narrative  so  handed  down  to  him,  never  once  pauses  to 
question  its  estimate  of  the  character  of  a  man  who  was  at 
one  time  the  glory,  and  at  another  the  terror,  of  all  Greece. 
Yet  in  comparing  the  summary  proceedings  taken  against 
Leotychides  with  the  extreme,  and  seemingly  pusillanimous, 
deference  paid  to  Pausanias  by  the  Ephors  long  after  they 
possessed  the  most  alarming  proofs  of  his  treason,  Mr.  Grote 
observes,  without  attempting  to  account  for  the  fact,  that 
Pausanias,  though  only  Regent,  was  far  more  pow'erful  than 
any  Spartan  King.  Why  so  pow-erful  ?  Obviously,  because 
he  possessed  uncommon  force  of  character ;  a  force  of 
character  strikingly  attested  by  every  known  incident  of  his 
career  ;  and  which,  when  concentrated  upon  the  conception 
and  execution  of  vast  designs  (even  if  those  designs  be  crim- 
inal), must  be  recognized  as  the   special  attribute  of  genius. 


5  BE  Die  A  TION. 

Thucydides,  Plutarch,  Diodorus,  Grote,  all  these  writers  as 
cribe  solely  to  the  administrative  incapacity  of  Pausanias  that 
offensive  arrogance  which  characterized  his  command  at  By- 
zantium, and  apparently  cost  Sparta  the  loss  of  her  maritime 
hegemony.  But  here  is  precisely  one  of  those  problems  in 
public  policy  and  personal  conduct  which  the  historian  be- 
queaths to  the  imaginative  writer,  and  which  needs,  for  its 
solution,  a  profound  knowledge  rather  of  human  nature  than 
of  books.  For,  dealing  with  such  a  problem,  my  father,  in 
addition  to  the  intuitive  penetration  of  character  and  motive 
which  is  common  to  every  great  romance-writer,  certainly 
possessed  two  qualifications  special  to  himself:  the  habit  of 
^tzS^ixi^  practically  with  political  questions,  and  experience  in 
the  active  management  of  men.  His  explanation  of  the  pol- 
icy of  Pausanias  at  Byzantium,  if  it  be  not  (as  I  think  it  is) 
the  right  one,  is  at  least  the  only  one  yet  offered,  I  venture 
to  think  that,  historically,  it  merits  attention ;  as,  from  the 
imaginative  point  of  view,  it  is  undoubtedly  felicitous.  By 
elevating  our  estimate  of  Pausanias  as  a  statesman,  it  in- 
creases our  interest  in  him  as  a  man. 

The  author  of  "  Pausanias  "  does  not  merely  tell  us  that 
his  hero,  when  in  conference  with  the  Spartan  commission- 
ers, displayed  "  great  natural  powers  which,  rightly  trained, 
might  have  made  him  not  less  renowned  in  council  than  in 
war,"  but  he  gives  us,  though  briefly,  the  arguments  used  by 
Pausanias.  He  presents  to  us  the  image,  always  interesting, 
of  a  man  who  grasps  firmly  the  clear  conception  of  a  definite 
but  difficult  policy,  for  success  in  which  he  is  dependent  on 
the  conscious  or  involuntary  co-operation  of  men  impenetra- 
ble to  that  conception,  and  possessed  of  a  collective  author- 
ity even  greater  than  his  own.  To  retain  Sparta  temporarily 
at  the  head  of  Greece  was  an  ambition  quite  consistent  with 
the  more  criminal  designs  of  Pausanias:  and  his  whole  con- 
duct at  Byzantium  is  rendered  more  intelligible  than  it  ap- 
pears in  history,  when  he  points  out  that  "  for  Sparta  to 
maintain  her  ascendency  two  things  are  needful :  first,  to 
continue  the  war  by  land  ;  secondly,to  disgust  the  lonians  with 
their  sojourn  at  Byzantium,  to  send  them  with  their  ships  back 
to  their  own  havens,  and  so  leave  Hellas  under  the  sole  guar- 
dianship of  the  Spartans  and  their  Peloponnesian  allies." 
And  who  has  not  learned,  in  a  later  school,  the  wisdom  of 
the  Spartan  commissioners  ?  Do  not  their  utterances  sound 
familiar  to  us?  "  Increase  of  dominion  is  waste  of  life  and 
treasure.     Sparta  is  content  to  hold  her  own.     What  care  we 


DEDICA  TIOX.  1 

who  leads  the  Greeks  into  blows  ?  The  fewer  blows,  the 
better.  Brave  men  fight  if  they  must :  wise  men  never  fight 
if  they  can  help  it."  Of  this  scene  and  some  others  in  the 
first  volume  of  the  present  fragment  (notably  the  scene  in 
which  the  Regent  confronts  the  allied  chiefs,  and  defends 
himself  against  the  charge  of  connivance  at  the  escape  of  the 
Persian  prisoners),  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  say  that 
they  could  not  have  been  written  without  personal  experience 
of  political  life,  if  the  interview  between  Wallenstein  and  the 
cSwedish  embassadors  in  Schiller's  great  trilogy  did  not  lecur 
to  my  recollection  as  I  write.  The  language  of  the  embassa- 
dors in  that  interview  is  a  perfect  manual  of  practical  diplo- 
macy ;  and  yet  in  practical  diplomacy  Schiller  had  no  per- 
sonal  experience.  There  are,  indeed,  no  limits  to  the 
creative  power  of  genius.  But  it  is  perhaps  the  practical 
politician  who  will  be  most  interested  by  the  chapters  in 
which  Pausanias  explains  his  policy,  or  defends  his  position. 

In  publishing  a  romance  which  its  author  has  left  unfin- 
ished, I  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  indicate  briefly  what  I 
believe  to  have  been  the  general  scope  of  its  design,  and  the 
probable  progress  of  its  narrative. 

The  "domestic  interest"  of  that  narrative  is  supplied  by 
the  story  of  Cleonice  :  a  story  which,  briefly  told  by  Plutarch, 
suggests  one  of  the  most  tragic  situations  it  is  possible  to 
conceive.  The  pathos  and  terror  of  this  dark,  weird  episode 
in  a  life  which  history  herself  invests  with  all  the  character 
of  romance,  long  haunted  the  imagination  of  Byron,  and 
elicited  from  Goethe  one  of  the  most  whimsical  illustrations 
of  the  astonishing  absurdity  into  which  criticism  sometimes 
tumbles,  when  it  "  o'erleaps  itself  and  falls  o  '  the  other." 

Writing  of  Manfred  and  its  author,  he  says  :  "  There  are, 
properly  speaking,  two  females  w'hose  phantoms  forever  haunt 
him  ;  and  which,  in  this  piece  also,  perform  principal  parts. 
One  under  the  name  of  Astarte,  the  other  without  form  or 
actual  presence,  and  merely  a  voice.  Of  the  horrid  occur- 
rence which  took  place  with  the  former,  the  following  is  re- 
lated :  When  a  bold  and  enterprising  young  man,  he  won  the 
affections  of  a  Florentine  lady.  Her  husband  discovered 
the  amour,  and  murdered  his  wife.  But  the  murderer  was 
the  same  night  found  dead  in  the  street,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  whom  any  suspicion  could  be  attached.  Lord  Byron 
removed  from  Florence,  and  these  spirits  haunted  hifn  all  his 
life  after.  This  romantic  incident  is  rendered  highly  probable 
by  innumerable  allusions  to  it  in  his  poems  ;  as,  for  instance, 


8  DEDICA  TION, 

when  turning  his  sad  contemplations  inward,  he  applies  to 
himself  the  fatal  history  of  the  King  of  Sparta.  It  is  as  fol- 
lows :  Pausanias,  a  Lacedgemonian  general,  acquires  glory 
by  the  important  victory  at  Plataea  ;  but  afterward  forfeits 
the  confidence  of  his  countrymen  by  his  arrogance,  obstinacy, 
and  secret  intrigues  with  the  common  enemy.  This  man 
draws  upon  himself  the  heavy  guilt  of  innocent  blood,  which 
attends  him  to  his  end  ;  for,  while  commanding  the  fleet  of 
the  allied  Greeks  in  the  Black  Sea,  he  is  inflamed  with  a 
violent  passion  for  a  Byzantine  maiden.  After  long  resis- 
tance, he  at  length  obtains  her  from  her  parents,  and  she  is 
to  be  delivered  up  to  him  at  night.  She  modestly  desires  the 
servant  to  put  out  the  lamp,  and,  while  groping  her  way  in  the 
dark  she  overturns  it.  Pausanias  is  awakened  from  his  sleep  : 
apprehensive  of  an  attack  from  murderers,  he  seizes  his  sword 
and  destroys  his  mistress.  The  horrid  sight  never  leaves 
him.  Her  shade  pursues  him  unceasingly ;  and  in  vain  he 
implores  aid  of  the  gods  and  the  exorcising  priests.  That 
poet  must  have  a  lacerated  heart  who  selects  such  a  scene 
from  antiquity,  appropriates  it  to  himself,  and  burdens  his 
tragic  image  with  it."* 

It  is  extremely  characteristic  of  Byron  that,  instead  of 
resenting  this  charge  of  murder,  he  was  so  pleased  by  the 
criticism  in  which  it  occurs  that  he  afterwards  dedicated 
"  The  Deformed  Transformed "  to  Goethe.  Mr.  Grote  re- 
peats the  stor)'  above  alluded  to,  with  all  the  sanction  of  his 
grave  authority,  and  even  mentions  the  name  of  the  young 
lady ;  apparently  for  the  sake  of  adding  a  few  black  strokes 
to  his  character  of  Pausanias.  But  the  supernatural  part  of 
the  legend  was,  of  course,  beneath  the  notice  of  a  nineteenth- 
century  critic  ;  and  he  passes  it  by.  This  part  of  the  story 
is,  however,  essential  to  the  psychological  interest  of  it.  For 
whether  it  be  that  Pausanias  supposed  himself,  or  that  con- 
temporary gossips  supposed  him,  to  be  haunted  by  the  phan- 
tom of  the  woman  he  had  loved  and  slain,  the  fact  in  either 
case  affords  a  lurid  glimpse  into  the  inner  life  of  the  man  ;  just 
as,  although  Goethe's  murder-story  about  Byron  is  ludicrously 
untrue,  yet  the  fact  in  either  case  affords  a  lurid  glimpse  into 
the  inner  life  of  the  man  ;  just  as,  although  Goethe's  mur- 
der-story  about  Byron  is  ludicrously  untrue,  yet  the  fact  that 
such  a  story  was  circulated,  and  could  be  seriously  repeated 
by  such  a  man  as  Goethe  without  being  resented  by  Byron 

•  xMoore's  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Lord  Byron, "  p.  723. 


DEDICA  TION.  g 

himself,  offers  significant  illustration,  both  of  what  Byron 
was,  and  of  what  he  appeared  to  his  contemporaries.  Grote 
also  assigns  the  death  of  Cleonice  to  that  period  in  the  life 
of  Pausanias  when  he  was  in  the  command  of  the  allies  at 
Byzantium,  and  refers  to  it  as  one  of  the  numerous  outrages 
whereby  Pausanias  abused  and  disgraced  the  authority  con- 
fided to  him.  Plutarchj  however,  who  tells  the  stor)'  in 
greater  detail,  distinctly  fixes  the  date  of  its  catastrophe 
subsequent  to  the  return  of  the  Regent  to  Byzantium,  as  a 
solitary  volunteer,  in  the  trireme  of  Hermione.  The  follow- 
ing is  his  account  of  the  affair  : — 

"  It  is  related  that  Pausanias,  when  at  Byzantium,  sought, 
with  criminal  purpose,  the  love  of  a  young  lady  of  good 
family,  named  Cleonice.  The  parents,  yielding  to  fear  or 
necessity,  suffered  him  to  carry  away  their  daughter.  Before 
entering  his  chamber,  she  requested  that  the  light  might  be 
extinguished,  and,  in  darkness  and  silence,  she  approached 
the  couch  of  Pausanias,  who  was  already  asleep.  In  so  doing, 
she  accidentally  upset  the  lamp.  Pausanias,  suddenly  aroused 
from  slumber,  and  supposing  that  some  enemy  was  about  to 
assassinate  him,  seized  his  sword,  which  lay  by  his  bedside, 
and  with  it  struck  the  maiden  to  the  ground.  She  died  of  her 
wound  ;  and  from  that  moment  repose  was  banished  from  the 
life  of  Pausanias.  A  spectre  appeared  to  him  every  night  in 
his  sleep,  and  repeated  to  him,  in  reproachful  tones,  this 
hexameter  verse  : 

"'  Whither  I  wait  thee,  march,  and  receive  the  dooin  thoti  deservest :  Soontr 
or  later,  but  ever,  to  man  critne  bringfth  disaster,^ 

The  allies,  scandalized  by  this  misdeed,  concerted  with 
Cimon,  and  besieged  Pausanias  in  Byzantium  ;  but  he  suc- 
ceeded in  escaping.  Continually  troubled  by  the  phantom, 
he  took  refuge,  it  is  said,  at  Heraclea,  in  that  temple  where 
the  souls  of  the  dead  are  evoked.  He  appealed  to  Cleonice, 
and  conjured  her  to  mitigate  his  torment.  She  appeared  to 
him,  and  told  him  that  on  his  return  to  Sparta  he  would  attain 
the  end  of  his  sufferings ;  indicating,  as  it  would  seem,  by 
these  enigmatic  words,  the  death  which  there  awaited  him. 
This"  (adds  Plutarch)  "  is  a  story  told  by  most  of  the  his- 
torians." * 

I  feel,  no  iloubt,  that  this  version  of  the  story,  or  at  least 
the  general  outline  of  it,  would  have  been  followed  by  the 

*  Plutarch,  "  Life  of  Cimon." 


,0  DEDICATION. 

romance,  had  my  father  lived  to  complete  it.  Some  modi- 
fication of  its  details  would  doubtless  have  been  necessary 
for  the  purposes  of  fiction.  But  that  the  Cleonice  of  the 
novel  is  destined  to  die  by  the  hand  of  her  lover  is  clearly 
indicated.  To  me  it  seems  that  considerable  skill  and  judg- 
ment are  shown  in  the  pains  taken,  at  the  very  opening  of 
the  book,  to  prepare  the  mind  of  the  reader  for  an  incident 
which  would  have  been  intolerably  painful,  and  must  have 
prematurely  ended  the  whole  narrative  interest,  had  the 
character  of  Cleonice  been  drawn  otherwise  than  as  we  find 
it  in  this  first  portion  of  the  book.  From  the  outset  she  ap- 
pears before  us  under  the  shadow  of  a  tragic  fatality.  Of 
that  fatality  she  is  herself  intuitively  conscious,  and  with  it 
her  whole  being  is  in  harmony.  No  sooner  do  we  recognize 
her  real  character  than  we  perceive  that,  for  such  a  character, 
there  can  be  no  fit  or  satisfactory  issue  from  the  ditBculties 
of  her  position,  in  any  conceivable  combination  of  earthly 
circumstances.  But  she  is  not  of  the  earth,  earthly.  Her 
thoughts  already  habitually  hover  on  the  dim  frontier  of 
some  vague  spiritual  region  in  which  her  love  seeks  refuge 
from  the  hopeless  realities  of  her  life  ;  and,  recognizing  this 
betimes,  we  are  prepared  to  see  above  the  hand  of  her  ill- 
fated  lover,  when  it  strikes  her  down  in  the  dark,  the  merciful 
and  releasing  hand  of  her  natural  destiny. 

"  But,  assuming  the  author  to  have  adopted  Plutarch's 
chronology,  and  deferred  the  death  of  Cleonice  till  the  return 
of  Pausanias  to  Byzantium  (the  latest  date  to  which  he  could 
possibly  have  deferred  it),  this  catastrophe  must  still  have 
occurred  somewhere  in  the  course,  or  at  the  close,  of  his 
second  volume.  There  would,  in  that  case,  have  still  re- 
mained about  nine  years  (and  those  the  most  eventful)  of  his 
hero's  career  to  be  narrated.  The  premature  removal  of  the 
heroine  from  the'  narrative,  so  early  in  the  course  of  it,  would 
therefore,  at  first  sight,  appear  to  be  a  serious  defect  in  the 
conception  of  this  romance.  Here  it  is,  however,  that  the 
credulous  gossip  of  the  old  biographer  comes  to  the  rescue 
of  the  modern  artist.  I  apprehend  that  the  Cleonice  of  the 
novel  would,  after  her  death,  have  been  still  sensibly  present 
to  the  reader's  imagination  throughout  the  rest  of  the  romance. 
She  would  then  have  moved  through  it  like  a  fate,  re-appear- 
ing in  the  most  solemn  moments  of  the  story,  and  at  all 
times  apparent,  even  when  unseen,  in  her  visible  influence 
upon  the  fierce  and  passionate  character,  the  sombre  turbu 
lent  career,  of  her  guilty  lover.     In  short,  we  may  fairly  sup 


DEDICATION.  H 

p.se  that,  in  all  the  closing  scenes  of  the  tragedy,  Cleonice 
would  have  still  figured  and  acted  as  one  of  those  supernat- 
ural agencies  which  my  father,  following  the  example  of  his 
great  predecessor,  Scott,  did  not  scruple  to  introduce  into 
the  composition  of  historical  romance.* 

Without  the  explanation  here  suggested,  those  metaphys- 
ical conversations  between  Cleonice,  Alcman,  and  Pausa- 
nias,  which  occupy  the  opening  chapters  of  Book  11. ,  might 
be  deemed  superfluous.  But,  in  fact,  they  are  essential  to 
the  preparation  of  the  catastrophe  ;  and  that  catastrophe,  if 
reached,  would  undoubtedly  have  revealed  to  any  reflective 
reader  their  important  connection  with  the  narrative  which 
they  now  appear  to  retard  somewhat  unduly. 

Quite  apart  from  the  unfinished  manuscript  of  this  story 
of  Pausanias,  and  in  another  portion  of  my  father's  papers 
which  have  no  reference  to  this  story,  I  have  discovered  the 
following,  undated,  memorandum  of  the  destined  contents  of 
the  second  and  third  volumes  of  the  work. 

PAUSANIAS. 

VOL  ir. 
Lysander — Sparta — Ephors — Decision  to  recall  Pausanias.     60. 


Pausanias  with    Pharnabazes — On    the    point    of  success — Xerxes' 
daughter — Interview  with  Cleonice — Recalled.     60. 


Sparta — Alcman  with  his  family.     60. 


Cleonice — Antagoras — Yields  to  suit  of  marriage.     60. 


Pausanias  suddenly  re-appears,  as  a  volunteer — Scenes.     60. 

vol..    III. 
Pausanias  removes  Cleonice,  etc. — Conspiracy  against  him — Up  to 
Cleunice's  death.     100. 


His   expulsion    from     Byzantium — His   despair — His    journey    into 
Thrace — Scythians,  etc.     .'' 


Heraclea — Ghost.     60. 
His  return — to  Colonce.     ? 


Antagoras  resolved  on  revenge — Communicates  with  Sparta.     ? 


The  *  *  * — Conference  with   Alcman — Pausanias  depends  on  He 
lots,  and  money.     40. 

His  return — to  death.     120. 

*  "  Harold." 


12  DEDICATION. 

This  is  the  only  indication  I  can  find  of  the  intended 
conckision  of  the  story.  Meagre  though  it  be,  however,  it 
sufficiently  suggests  the  manner  in  which  the  author  of  the 
romance  intended  to  deal  with  the  circumstances  of  Cleo- 
nice's  death  as  related  by  Plutarch.  With  her  forcible  re- 
moval by  Pausanias,  or  her  willing  flight  with  him  from  the 
house  of  her  father,  it  would  probably  have  been  difficult  to 
reconcile  the  general  sentiment  of  the  romance,  in  connec- 
tion with  any  circumstances  less  conceivable  than  those 
which  are  indicated  in  the  memorandum.  But,  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, the  step  taken  by  Pausanias  might  have  had  no 
worse  motive  than  the  rescue  of  the  woman  who  loved  him' 
from  forced  union  with  another  ;  and  Cleonice's  assent  to 
that  step  might  have  been  quite  compatible  with  the  purity 
and  heroism  of  her  character.  In  this  manner,  moreover,  a 
strong  motive  is  prepared  for  that  sentiment  of  revenge  on 
the  part  of  Antagoras  whereby  the  dramatic  interest  of  the 
story  might  be  greatly  heightened  in  the  subsequent  chap- 
ters. The  intended  introduction  of  the  supernatural  element 
is  also  clearly  indicated.  But,  apart  from  this,  fine  oppor- 
tunities for  psychological  analysis  would  doubtless  have  oc- 
curred in  tracing  the  gradual  deterioration  of  such  a  char- 
acter as  that  of  Pausanias  when,  deprived  of  the  guardian 
influence  of  a  hope  passionate,  but  not  impure,  its  craving 
for  fierce  excitement  must  have  been  stimulated  by  remorse- 
ful memories  and  impotent  despairs.  Indeed,  the  imperfect 
manuscript  now  printed  contains  only  the  exposition  of  a 
tragedy.  All  the  most  striking  effects,  all  the  strongest 
dramatic  situations,  have  been  reserved  for  the  pages  of  the 
manuscript  which,  alas  !  are  either  lost  or  unwritten. 

Who  can  doubt,  for  instance,  how  effectually,  in  the  clos- 
ing scenes  of  this  tragedy,  the  grim  image  of  Alithea  might 
have  assumed  the  place  assigned  to  it  by  history  ?  All  that 
we  now  see  is  the  preparation  made  for  its  effective  presen- 
tation in  the  foreground  of  such  later  scenes,  by  the  chapter 
in  the  second  volume  describing  the  meeting  between  Ly- 
sander  and  the  stern  mother  of  his  Spartan  chief.  In  Ly- 
sander  himself,  moreover,  we  have  the  germ  of  a  singularly 
dramatic  situation.  How  would  Lysander  act  in  the  final 
struggle  which  his  character  and  fate  are  already  preparing 
for  him,  between  patriotism  and  friendship,  his  fidelity  to 
Pausanias,  and  his  devotion  to  Sparta  ?  Is  Lysander's  fa- 
ther intended  for  that  Ephor  who,  in  tiie  last  moment,  made 
the  sign  that  warned  Pausanias  to  take  refuge  in  the  temple 


dedication:  h 

which  became  his  living  tomb  ?  Probably.  Woul-d  The- 
mistocles,  who  was  so  seriously  compromised  in  the  conspir- 
acy of  Pausanias,  have  appeared  and  played  a  part  in  those 
scenes  on  which  the  curtain  must  remain  unlifted?  Possi- 
bly. Is  Alcman  the  Helot  who  revealed  to  the  Ephors  the 
gigantic  plots  of  his  master  just  when  those  plots  were  on 
the  eve  of  execution  ?  There  is  much  in  the  relations  be- 
tween Pausanias  and  the  Mothon,  as  they  are  described  in 
the  opening  chapters  of  the  romance,  which  favors,  and  in- 
deed renders  almost  irresistible,  such  a  supposition.  But 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  what  genius  on  the  part  of  the  au- 
thor could  reconcile  us  to  the  perpetration  by  his  hero  of  a 
crime  so  mean,  so  cowardly,  as  that  personal  perfidy  to  which 
history  ascribes  the  revelation  of  the  Regent's  far  more  ex- 
cusable treasons,  and  their  terrible  punishment  .■* 

These  questions  must  remain  unanswered.  The  magician 
can  wave  his  wand  no  more.  The  circle  is  broken,  the  spells 
are  scattered,  the  secret  lost.  The  images  which  he  evoked, 
and  which  he  alone  could  animate,  remain  before  us  incom- 
plete, semi-articulate,  unable  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  they  in- 
spire. A  group  of  fragments,  in  many  places  broken,  you 
have  helped  me  to  restore.  With  what  reverent  and  kindly 
care,  with  what  disciplined  judgment  and  felicitous  sugges- 
tion, you  have  accomplished  the  difficult  task  so  generously 
undertaken,  let  me  here  most  gratefully  attest.  Beneath  the 
sculptor's  name  allow  me  to  inscribe  upon  the  pedestal  your 
own,  and  accept  this  sincere  assurance  of  the  inherited  es- 
teem and  personal  regard  with  which  I  am,  my  dear  Dr. 
Kennedy, 

Your  obliged  and  faithful 

Lyiton. 
CiNTRA,  ytdy  ^th,  1875. 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

On  one  of  the  quays  which  bordered  the  unrivalled  har- 
bor of  Byzantium,  more  than  twenty-three  centuries  before 
the  date  at  which  this  narrative  is  begun,  stood  two  Athe- 
nians. In  the  waters  of  the  haven  rode  the  vessels  of  the 
Grecian  fleet.  So  deep  was  the  basin,  in  which  the  tides 
are  scarcely  felt,  *  that  the  prows  of  some  of  the  ships 
touched  the  quays,  and  the  setting  sun  glittered  upon  the 
smooth  and  waxen  surfaces  of  the  prows,  rich  with  diversi- 
fied colors  and  wrought  gilding.  To  the  extreme  right  of 
the  fleet,  and  nearly  opposite  the  place  upon  which  the 
Athenians  stood,  was  a  vessel  still  more  profusely  orna- 
mented than  the  rest.  On  the  prow  were  elaborately  carved 
the  heads  of  the  twin  deities  of  the  Laconian  mariner,  Cas- 
tor and  Pollux  ;  in  the  centre  of  the  deck  was  a  wooden 
edifice  or  pavilion,  having  a  gilded  roof  and  shaded  by  pur- 
ple awnings,  an  imitation  of  the  luxurious  galleys  of  the 
Barbarian ;  while  the  parasemon,  or  flag,  as  it  idly  waved 
in  the  faint  breeze  of  the  gentle  evening,  exhibited  the  ter- 
rible serpent,  which,  if  it  was  the  fabulous  type  of  demi- 
gods and  heroes,  might  also  be  regarded  as  an  emblem  of 
the  wily  but  stern  policy  of  the  Spartan  State.  Such  was 
the  galley  of  the  commander  of  the  armamei.t,  which  (after 

*  Gibbon,  ch.  17. 


1 6  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

the  reduction  of  Cyprus)  had  but  lately  wrested  from  the 
yoke  of  Persia  that  link  between  her  European  and  Asiatic 
domains,  that  key  of  the  Bosporus — "  the  Golden  Horn  " 
of  Byzantine.* 

High  above  all  other  Greeks  (Themistocles  alone  ex- 
cepted) soared  the  fame  of  that  renowned  chief,  Pausa- 
nias.  Regent  of  Sparta,  and  General  of  the  allied  troops  at 
the  victorious  battle-field  of  Plataa.  The  spot  on  which 
the  Athenians  stood  was  lonely,  and  now  unoccupied,  save 
by  themselves  and  the  sentries  stationed  at  some  distance 
on  either  hand.  The  larger  proportion  of  the  crews  in  the 
various  vessels  were  on  shore  ;  but  on  the  decks  idly  re- 
clined small  groups  of  sailors,  and  the  murmur  of  their 
voices  stole,  indistinguishably  blended,  upon  the  translucent 
air.  Behind  rose,  one  above  the  other,  the  Seven  Hills,  on 
which  long  afterward  the  Emperor  Constantine  built  a  sec- 
ond Rome  ;  and  over  these  heights,  even  then,  buildings 
were  scattered  of  various  forms  and  dates  ;  here  the  pillared 
temples  of  the  Greek  colonists,  to  whom  Byzantium  owed  its 
origin,  there  the  light  roofs  and  painted  domes  which  the 
Eastern  conquerors  had  introduced. 

One  of  the  Athenians  was  a  man  in  the  meridian  of  man- 
hood, of  a  calm,  sedate,  but  somewhat  haughty  aspect;  the 
other  was  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth,  of  lofty  stature,  and 
with  a  certain  majesty  of  bearing  ;  down  his  shoulders 
flowed  a  profusion  of  long  curled  hair,  f  diA'ided  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  forehead,  and  connected  with  golden  clasps,  in 
which  was  wrought  the  emblem  of  the  Athenian  nobles — 
the  Grasshopper — a  fashion  not  yet  obsolete,  as  it  had  be- 
come in  the  days  of  Thucydides.  Still,  to  an  observer, 
there  was  something  heavy  in  the  ordinary  expression  of 
the  handsome  countenance.  His  dress  differed  from  the 
earlier  fashion  of  the  lonians ;  it  dispensed  with  those 
loose  linen  garments  which  had  something  of  effeminacy  in 
their  folds,  and  was  confined  to  the  simple  and  statuelike 
grace  that  characterized  the  Dorian  garb.  Yet  the  clasp 
that  fastened  the  chlamys  upon  the  right  shoulder,  leaving 
the  arm  free,  was  of  pure  gold  and  exquisite   workmanship, 

*  "'The  harbor  of  Constantinople,  which  may  be  considered  as  an 
arm  of  the  Bosporus,  obtained  in  a  very  remote  period  the  denomination 
of  the  Golden  Ilorn.  The  curve  which  it  describes  might  be  compared 
to  the  horn  of  a  stag,  or,  as  it  should  seem,  with  more  propriety,  to  that 
of  an  ox."— Gib.,  ch.  17  ;  Strab.,1.  x. 

t  Ion  aptid  Plut. 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  ij 

and  the  materials  of  the  simple  vesture  were  of  a  quality  that 
betokened  wealth  and  rank  in  the  wearer. 

"  Yes,  Cimon,"  said  the  elder  of  the  Athenians,  "  yondei 
galley  itself  affords  sufficient  testimony  of  the  change  that 
has  come  over  the  haughty  Spartan.  It  is  difficult,  indeed, 
to  recognize  in  this  luxurious  satrap,  who  affects  the  dress, 
the  manners,  the  very  insolence  of  the  Barbarian,  that  Pau- 
sanias  who,  after  the  glorious  day  of  Platasa,  ordered  the 
slaves  to  prepare  in  the  tent  of  Mardonius  such  a  banquet 
as  would  have  been  served  to  the  Persian,  while  his  own 
Spartan  broth  and  bread  were  set  beside  it,  in  order  that 
he  might  utter  to  the  chiefs  of  Greece  that  noble  pleasantry, 
'  Behold  the  folly  of  the  Persians,  who  forsook  such  splendor 
to  plunder  such  poverty.'  "  * 

"  Shame  upon  his  degeneracy,  and  thrice  shame  !  "  said 
the  young  Cimon,  sternly.  "  I  love  the  Spartans  so  well  that 
I  blush  for  whatever  degrades  them.  And  all  Sparta  is 
dwarfed  by  the  effeminacy  of  her  chief." 

"  Softly,  Cimon,"  said  Aristides,  with  a  sober  smile, 
"  Whatever  surprise  we  may  feel  at  the  corruption  of  Pau- 
sanias,  he  is  not  one  who  will  allow  us  to  feel  contempt. 
Through  all  the  voluptuous  softness  acquired  by  intercourse 
with  these  Barbarians,  the  strong  nature  of  the  descendant 
of  the  demi-god  still  breaks  forth.  Even  at  the  distaff  I 
recognize  Alcides,  whether  for  evil  or  for  good.  Pausanias 
is  one  on  whom  our  most  anxious  gaze  must  be  duly  bent. 
But  in  this  change  of  his  I  rejoice  ;  the  gods  are  at  work  for 
Athens.  See  you  not  that,  day  after  day,  while  Pausanias 
disgusts  the  allies  with  the  Spartans  themselves,  he  throws 
them  more  and  more  into  the  arms  of  Athens  ?  Let  his  mad- 
ness go  on,  and  ere  long  the  violet-crowned  city  will  become 
the  queen  of  the  seas."- 

"  Such  was  my  own  hope,"  said  Cimon,  his  face  assuming 
a  new  expression,  brightened  with  all  the  intelligence  of  am- 
bition and  pride  ,  "  but  I  did  not  dare  own  it  to  myself  till 
you  spoke.  Several  officers  of  Ionia  and  the  Isles  have  al- 
ready openly  and  loudly  proclaimed  to  me  their  wish  to 
exchange  the  Spartan  ascendency  for  the  Athenian." 

"  And  with  all  your  love  for  Sparta,"  said  Aristides,  look- 
ing steadfastly  and  searchingly  at  his  comrade;  "you  would 
not,  then,  hesitate  to  rob  her  of  a  glory  which  you  might 
bestow  on  your  own  Athens  ?  " 

*  Ilerod.,  ix.  S2 


l8  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"  Ah,  am  I  not  Athenian  ?  "  answered  Cimon,  with  a 
deep  passion  in  his  voice.  "  Though  my  great  father  perished 
a  victim  to  the  injustice  of  a  faction — though  he  who  had 
saved  Athens  from  the  Mede  died  in  the  Athenian  dungeon 
— still,  fatherless,  I  see  in  Athens  but  a  mother ;  and  if  her 
voice  sounded  harshly  in  my  boyish  years,  in  manhood  I  have 
feasted  on  her  smiles.  Yes,  I  honor  Sparta,  but  I  love 
Athens.     You  have  my  answer." 

"  You  speak  well,"  said  Aristides,  with  warmth ;  "  you 
are  worthy  of  the  destinies  for  which  I  foresee  that  the  son  of 
Miltiades  is  reserved.  Be  wary,  be  cautious  ;  above  all,  be 
smooth,  and  blend  with  men  of  every  state  and  grade.  I 
would  wish  that  the  allies  themselves  should  draw  the  con- 
trast between  the  insolence  of  the  Spartan  chief  and  the 
courtesy  of  the  Athenians.  What  said  you  to  the  Ionian 
officers  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  Athens  held  there  was  no  difference  be- 
tween to  command  and  to  obey,  except  so  far  as  was  best 
for  the  interests  of  Greece  ;  that,  as  on  the  field  of  Plataea 
when  the  Tegeans  asserted  precedence  over  the  Athenians, 
wc,  the  Athenian  army,  at  once  exclaimed,  through  your 
voice,  Aristides,  *  We  come  here  to  fight  the  Barbarian,  not 
to  dispute  among  ourselves  ;  place  us  where  you  will '  *  — 
even  so^now,  while  the  allies  give  the  command  to  Sparta, 
Sparta  we  will  obey.  But  if  we  were  thought  by  the  Grecian 
States  the  fittest  leaders,  our  answer  would  be  the  same  that 
we  gave  at  Platsea,  '  Not  we,  but  Greece  be  consulted  :  place 
us  where  you  will  ! '  " 

"  O  wise  Cimon  !  "  exclaimed  Aristides,  "  I  have  no  cau- 
tion to  bestow  on  you.  You  do  by  intuition  that  which  I 
attempt  by  experience.  But  hark  !  What  music  sounds  in 
the  distance  ?  The  airs  that  Lydia  borrowed  from  the 
East  ? " 

"  And  for  which,"  said  Cimon,  sarcastically,  "  Pausanias 
hath  abandoned  the  Dorian  flute." 

Soft,  airy,  and  voluptuous  were  indeed  the  sounds  which 
now,  from  the  streets  leading  upward  from  the  quay,  floated 
along  the  delicious  air.  The  sailors  rose,  listening  and  eager, 
from  the  decks  ;  there  was  once  more  bustle,  life,  and  anima 
tion  on  board  the  fleet.  From  several  of  the  vessels  the 
trumpets  woke  a  sonorous  signal-note.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
quays,before  so  deserted,  swarmed  with  the  Grecian  mariners, 

*  Plut.,  in  Vit.   Arist. 


PAUSANIAS.  THE  SPARTAN: 


'9 


who  emerged  hastily,  whether  from  various  houses  in  the 
haven,  or  from  the  encamiDment  which  stretched  along  it, 
and  hurried  to  their  respective  ships.  On  board  the  galley  of 
Pausanias  there  was  more  especial  animation ;  not  only 
mariners,  but  slaves,  evidently  from  the  Eastern  markets^ 
were  seen  jostling  each  other,  and  heard  talking,  quick  and 
loud,  in  foreign  tongues.  Rich  carpets  were  unfurled  and 
laid  across  the  deck,  while  trembling  and  hasty  hands 
smoothed  into  yet  more  graceful  folds  the  curtains  that 
shaded  the  gay  pavilion  in  the  centre.  The  Athenians 
looked  on,  the  one  with  thoughtful  composure,  the  other  with 
a  bitter  smile,  while  these  preparations  announced  the  unex- 
pected, and  not  undreaded,  approach  of  the  great  Pausanias. 

"  Ho,  noble  Cimon  !  "  cried  a  young  man  who,  hurrying 
toward  one  of  the  vessels,  caught  sight  of  the  Athenians  and 
paused.  "  You  are  the  very  person  whom  I  most  desired  to 
see.     Aristides  too  ! — we  are  fortunate." 

The  speaker  was  a  young  man  of  slighter  make  and  lower 
stature  than  the  Athenians,  but  well  shaped,  and  with  features 
the  partial  effeminacy  of  which  was  elevated  by  an  expression 
of  great  vivacity  and  intelligence.  The  steed  trained  for 
Elis  never  bore  in  its  proportions  the  evidence  of  blood  and 
rare  breeding  more  visibly  than  the  dark  brilliant  eye  of  this 
young  man ;  his  broad,  low,  transparent  brow,  expanded 
nostril,  and  sensitive  lip  revealed  the  passionate  and  some- 
what arrogant  character  of  the  vivacious  Greek  of  the  .^gean 
Isles. 

"  Antagoras,"  replied  Cimon,  laying  his  hand  with  frank 
and  somewhat  blunt  cordiality  on  the  Greek's  shoulder,  "  like 
the  grape  of  your  own  Chios,  you  can  not  fail  to  be  welcome 
at  all  times.     Biut  why  would  you  seek  us  now  ?  " 

"  Because  I  will  no  longer  endure  the  insolence  of  this 
rude  Spartan.  Will  you  believe  it,  Cimon — will  you  be- 
lieve it,  Aristides  ?  Pausanias  has  actually  dared  to  sen- 
tence to  blows,  to  stripes,  one  of  my  own  men — a  free  Chian 
—nay,  a  Decadarchus.*  I  have  but  this  instant  heard  it. 
And  the  offence — gods  !  the  offcjice! — was  that  he  ventured 
to  contest  with  a  Laconian,  an  underling  in  the  Spartan  army, 
which  one  of  the  two  had  the  fair  right  to  a  wine-cask  !  Shall 
this  be  borne,  Cimon  .-'  " 

"  Stripes  to  a  Greek  !  "  said  Cimon,  and  the  color  mounted 
to  his  brow.  "  Thinks  Pausanias  that  the  Ionian  race  are 
already  his  Helots  ?  " 

*  Leader  of  ten  men. 


ao  PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN^. 

**  Be  calm,"  said  Aristides ;  "  Pausanias  a]:)proaches.  1 
will  accost  him." 

"  But  listen  still  !  "  exclaimed  Antagoras,  eagerly,  pluck 
ing  the  gown  of   the  Athenians,  as  the  latter  turned  away 
"When  Pausanias  heard  of  the  contest  between  my  soldier 
and  his  Laconian,  what  said  he,  think  you  ?     '  Prior  claim  ; 
learn  henceforth  that,  where  the  Spartans  are  to  be  found, 
the  Spartans  in  all  matters  have  the  prior  claim.'  " 

"  We  will  see  to  it,"  returned  Aristides,  calmly  ;  "  bul 
keep  by  my  side." 

And  now  the  music  sounded  loud  and  near,  and  suddenly, 
as  the  procession  approached,  the  character  of  that  music 
altered.  The  Lydian  measures  ceased,  those  who  had  at- 
tuned them  gave  way  to  musicians  of  loftier  aspect  and 
simpler  garb ;  in  whom  might  be  recognized,  not  indeed  the 
genuine  Spartans,  but  their  free,  if  subordinate,  countrymen 
of  Laconia  ;  and  a  minstrel,  who  walked  beside  them,  broke 
out  into  a  song,  partially  adapted  from  the  bold  and  lively 
strain  of  Alcasus,  the  first  two  lines  in  each  stanza  ringing 
much  to  that  chime,  the  two  latter  reduced  into  briefer  com- 
pass, as,  with  allowance  for  the  differing  laws  of  national 
rhythm  we  thus  seek  to  render  the  verse  : 

SONG. 

Multitudes,  backward  I     Way  for  the  Dorian  I 
Way  for  the  Lord  of  rocky  Laconia  J 
Heaven  to  Hercules  opened 
Way  on  the  earth  for  his  son. 

Steel  and  fate,  blunted,  break  on  his  fortitude; 
Two  evils  only  never  endureth  he — 
Death  by  a  wound  in  retreating, 
Life  with  a  blot  on  his  name. 

Rocky  his  birthplace  ;  rocks  are  immutable  ; 
So  are  his  laws,  and  so  shall  his  glory  be. 
Time  is  the  Victor  of  Nations, 
Sparta  the  Victor  of  Time. 

Watch  o'er  him  heedful  on  the  wide  ocean, 
Brothers  of  Helen,  luminous  guiding  stars; 
Dangerous  to  Truih  are  the  fickle, 
Dangerous  to  Sparta  the  seas. 

Multitudes,  backward !     Way  for  the  Conqueror  I 
Way  for  the  footstep  half  the  world  fled  before; 
Nothing  tliat  Phoebus  can  shine  on 
Needs  so  much  space  as  Renown. 


PA  USA N/ AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  21 

Behind  the  musicians  came  ten  Spartans,  selected  from 
the  celebrated  three  hundred  who  claimed  the  right  to  be 
stationed  around  the  king  in  battle.  Tall,  stalwart,  sheathed 
in  armor,  their  shields  slung  at  their  backs,  their  crests  of 
plumage  or  horse-hair  waving  over  their  strong  and  stern 
leaiures,  these  hardy  warriors  betrayed  to  the  keen  eye  oi 
Aristides  tlieir  sullen  discontent  at  the  part  assigned  to  them 
in  the  luxurious  procession  ;  their  brows  were  knit,  their  lips 
contracted,  and  each  of  them  who  caught  the  glance  of  the 
Athenians  turned  his  eyes,  as  half  in  shame,  half  in  anger  to 
the  ground. 

Coming  now  upon  the  quay,  opposite  to  the  galley  of 
Pausanias,  from  which  was  suspended  a  ladder  of  silken  cords, 
the  procession  halted,  and,  opening  on  either  side,  left  space 
in  the  midst  for  the  commander. 

"  He  comes,"  whispered  Antagoras  to  Cimon.  "By  Her- 
cules !  I  pray  you  survey  him  well.  Is  it  the  conqueror  of 
Mardonius,  or  the  ghost  of  Mardonius  himself  ?" 

The  question  of  the  Chian  seemed  not  extravagant  to  the 
blunt  son  of  Miltiades,  as  his  eyes  now  rested  on  Pausanias. 

The  pure  Spartan  race  boasted,  perhaps,  the  most  superb 
models  of  masculine  beauty  which  the  land  blessed  by  Apollo 
could  afford.  The  laws  that  regulated  marriage  insured  a 
healthful  and  vigorous  progeny.  Gymnastic  discipline  from 
early  boyhood  gave  ease  to  the  limbs,  iron  to  the  muscle, 
grace  to  the  whole  frame.  Every  Spartan,  being  born  to 
command,  being  noble  by  his  birth,  lord  of  the  Laconians, 
Master  of  the  Helots,  superior  in  the  eyes  of  Greece  to  all 
other  Greeks,  was  at  once  a  Republican  and  an  Aristocrat. 
Schooled  in  the  arts  that  compose  the  presence,  and  give 
calmness  and  majesty  to  the  bearing,  he  combined  with  the 
mere  physical  advantages  of  activity  and  strength  a  conscious 
and  yet  natural  dignity  of  mien.  Amidst  the  Greeks  assembled 
at  the  Olympian  contests,  others  showed  richer  garments, 
more  sumptuous  chariots,  rarer  steeds;  but  no  state  could 
vie  with  Sparta  in  the  thews  and  sinews,  the  aspect  and  the 
majesty,  of  the  men.  Nor  were  the  royal  race,  the  descend- 
ants of  Hercules,  in  external  appearance  unworthy  of  their 
countrymen  and  of  their  fabled  origin. 

Sculptor  and  painter  would  have  vainly  tasked  their  imag- 
inative minds  to  invent  a  nobler  ideal  for  the  effigies  of  a  hero 
than  that  which  the  Victor  of  Plataea  offered  to  their  inspira- 
tion. As  he  now  paused  amidst  the  group,  he  towered 
high  above  them  all,  even  above  Cimon  himself.     But  in  his 


22  PA  US  A  NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN. 

Stature  there  was  nothing  of  the  cumbrous  bulk  and  stolid 
heaviness  which  often  destroy  the  beauty  of  vast  strength. 
Severe  and  early  training,  long  habits  of  rig'd  abstemiousness, 
the  toils  of  war,  and,  more  than  all,  perhaps,  the  constant 
play  of  a  restless,  anxious,  aspiring  temper,  had  left,  undis- 
figured  by  superfluous  flesh,  the  grand  proportions  of  a  frame, 
the  very  spareness  of  which  had  at  once  the  strength  and  the 
beauty  of  one  of  those  hardy  victors  in  the  wrestling  or  box- 
ing match,  whose  agility  and  force  are  modelled  by  discipline 
to  the  purest  forms  of  grace.  Without  that  exact  and  chiselled 
harmony  of  countenance  which  characterized  perhaps  the 
Ionic  rather  than  the  Doric  race,  the  features  of  the  royal 
Spartan  were  noble  and  commanding.  His  complexion  was 
sunburned,  almost  to  Oriental  swarthiness,  and  the  raven's 
plume  had  no  darker  gloss  than  that  of  his  long  hair,  which 
(contrary  to  the  Spartan  custom),  flowing  on  either  side, 
mingled  with  the  closer  curls  of  the  beard.  To  a  scrutinizing 
gaze,  the  more  dignified  and  prepossessing  effect  of  this  ex- 
terior would  perhaps  have  been  counterbalanced  by  an  eye, 
bright  indeed  and  penetrating,  but  restless  and  suspicious,  by 
a  certain  ineffable  mixture  of  arrogant  pride  and  profound 
melancholy  in  the  general  expression  of  the  countenance,  ill 
according  with  that  frank  and  serene  aspect  which  best  be- 
comes the  face  of  one  who  would  lead  mankind.  About  him 
altogether — the  countenance,  the  form,  the  bearing — there 
was  that  which  woke  a  vague,  profound,  and  singular  interest, 
an  interest  somewhat  mingled  with  awe,  but  not  altogether  un- 
calculated  to  produce  that  affection  which  belongs  to  admira- 
tion, save  when  the  sudden  frown  or  disdainful  lip  repelled  the 
gentler  impulse,  and  tended  rather  to  excite  fear,  or  to  irritate 
pride,  or  to  wound  self-love. 

But  if  the  form  and  features  of  Pausanias  were  eminently 
those  of  the  purest  race  of  Greece,  the  dress  which  he  as- 
sumed was  no  less  characteristic  of  the  Barbarian.  He  wore, 
not  the  garb  of  the  noble  Persian  race,  which,  close  and  sim- 
ple, was  but  a  little  less  manly  than  that  of  the  Greeks,  but 
the  flowing  and  gorgeous  garments  of  the  Mede.  His  long 
gown,  which  swept  the  earth,  was  covered  with  flowers 
wrought  in  golden  tissue.  Instead  of  the  Spartan  hat,  the  high 
Median  cap  or  tiara  crowned  his  perfumed  and  lustrous  hair, 
while  (what  of  all  was  most  hateful  to  Grecian  eyes)  he  wore, 
though  otherwise  unarmed,  the  curved  cimeter  and  short  dirk 
that  were  the  national  weapons  of  the  Barbarian.  And  as  it 
was  not  customary,  nor  indeed  legitimate,   for  the   Greeks 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN. 


23 


to  wear  weapons  on  peaceful  occasions  and  with  their  ordi- 
nary costume,  so  this  departure  from  the  common  practice 
had  not  only  in  itself  something  offensive  to  the  jealous  eyes 
of  his  comrades,  but  was  rendered  yet  more  obnoxious  by 
the  adoption  of  the  very  arms  of  the  East. 

By  the  side  of  Pausanias  was  a  man  whose  dark  beard 
was  already  sown  with  gray.  This  man,  named  Gong}'lus, 
though  a  Greek — a  native  of  Eretria,  in  EubcE — was  in  high 
command  nuder  the  great  Persian  king.  At  the  time  of  the 
Barbarian  invasion  under  Datis  and  Artaphernes,  he  had 
deserted  the  cause  of  Greece,  and  had  been  rewarded  with 
the  lordship  of  four  towns  in  yEolis.  Few  among  the  apostate 
Greeks  were  more  deeply  instructed  in  the  language  and  man- 
ners of  the  Persians ;  and  the  intimate  and  sudden  friendship 
that  had  grown  up  between  him  and  the  Spartan  was  regarded 
by  the  Greeks  with  the  most  bitter  and  angry  suspicion.  As  if 
to  show  his  contempt  for  the  natural  jealousy  of  his  country- 
men, Pausanias,  however,  had  just  given  to  the  Eretrian  the 
government  of  Byzantium  itself,  and  with  the  command  of  the 
citadel  had  intrusted  to  him  the  custody  of  the  Persian  prisoners 
captured  in  that  port.  Among  these  were  men  of  the  highest 
rank  and  influence  at  the  court  of  Xerxes ;  and  it  was  more 
than  rumored  that  of  late  Pausanias  had  visited  and  conferred 
with  them,  through  the  interpretation  of  Gongylus,  far  more 
frequently  than  became  the  General  of  the  Greeks.  Gongylus 
had  one  of  those  countenances  which  are  observed  when  many 
of  more  striking  semblance  are  overlooked.  But  the  features 
were  sharp  and  the  visage  lean,  the  eyes  vivid  and  sparkling 
as  those  of  the  lynx,  and  the  dark  pupil  seemed  yet  more 
dark  from  the  extreme  whiteness  of  the  ball,  from  which  it 
lessened  or  dilated  with  the  impulse  of  the  spirit  which  gave 
it  fire.  There  was  in  that  eye  all  the  subtle  craft,  the  plot- 
ting and  restless  malignity,  which  usually  characterized  those 
Greek  renegades  who  prostituted  their  native  energies  to  the 
rich  service  of  the  Barbarian  ;  and  the  lips,  narrow  and  thin, 
wore  that  everlasting  smile  which  to  the  credulous  disguises 
wile,  and  to  the  experience  betrays  it.  Small,  spare,  and  pre- 
maturely bent,  the  Eretrian  supported  himself  by  a  staff, 
upon  which  now  leaning,  he  glanced,  quickly  and  pryingly, 
around,  till  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  Athenians,  with  the  young 
Chian  standing  in  their  rear. 

"  The  Athenian  Captains  are  here  to  do  you  homage,  Pau 
sanias,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  as  he  touched  with  his  smaU 
lean  finger^-^  the  arm  of  the  Spartan, 


24 


FAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 


Pausanias  turned  and  muttered  to  himself,  and  at  that  in- 
stant Aristides  approached. 

"  If  it  please  you,  Pausanias,  Cimon  and  myself,  the  leaders 
of  the  Athenians,  would  crave  a  hearing  upon  certain 
matters." 

"  Son  of  I.ysimachus,  say  on." 

"  Your  pardon,  Pausanias,"  returned  the  Athenian,  lower- 
ing his  voice,  and  with  a  smile — "  this  is  too  crowded  a  council- 
hall  ;  may  we  attend  you  on  board  your  galley  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  answered  the  Spartan,  haughtily ;  "  the  morning 
to  affairs,  the  evening  to  recreation.  We  shall  sail  in  the 
bay  to  see  the  moon  rise,  and  if  we  indulge  in  consultations, 
it  will  be  over  our  wine-cups.     It  is  a  good  custom." 

"  It  is  a  Persian  one,"  said  Cimon,  bluntly. 

"  It  is  permitted  to  us,"  returned  the  .Spartan,  coldly, 
"  to  borrow  from  those  we  conquer.  But  enough  of  this. 
I  have  no  secrets  with  the  Athenians.  No  matter  if  the 
whole  city  hear  what  you  would  address  to  Pausanias." 

"  It  is  to  complain,"  said  Aristides  with  calm  emphasis, 
but  still  in  an  undertone. 

"  Ay,  I  doubt  it  not ;  the  Athenians  are  eloquent  in  grum- 
bling." 

"  It  was  not  found  so  at  Platsa,"  returned  Cimon. 

"  Son  of  Miltiades,"  said  Pausanias,  loftily,  "  your  wit 
outruns  your  experience.  But  my  time  is  short.  To  the 
matter!" 

"  If  you  will  have  it  so,  I  will  speak,"  said  Aristides,  rais- 
ing his  voice.  "  Before  your  own  Spartans,  our  comrades  in 
arms,  I  proclaim  our  causes  of  complaint.  Firstly,  then,  I 
demand  release  and  compensation  to  seven  Athenians,  free- 
born  and  citizens,  whom  your  orders  have  condemned  to  the 
unworthy  punishment  of  standing  all  day  in  the  open  sun 
with  the  weight  of  iron  anchors  on  their  shoulders." 

"  The  mutinous  knaves ! "  exclaimed  the  Spartan. 
"  They  introduced  into  the  camp  the  insolence  of  their  own 
Agora,  and  were  publicly  heard  in  the  streets  inveighing 
against  myself  as  a  favorer  of  the  Persians." 

"It  was  easy  to  confute  the  charge  ;  it  was  tyrannical  to 
punish  words  in  men  whose  deeds  had  raised  you  to  the  com- 
mand of  Greece." 

"  Their  deeds !  Ye  gods,  give  me  patience  !  By  the 
help  of  Juno  the  Protectress,  it  was  this  brain  and  this  arm  that 
— But  I  will  not  justify  myself  by  imitating  the  Athenian 
fashion  of  wordy  boasting.     Pass  on  to  your  next  complaint." 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  25 

"  You  have  placed  slaves — yes,  Helots — around  the 
springs,  to  drive  away  with  scourges  the  soldiers  that  come 
for  water." 

"Not  so,  but  merely  to  prevent  others  from  filling  theii 
vases  until  the  Spartans  are  supj^lied.'' 

"  And  by  what  right — ?  "  began  Cimon,  but  Aristides 
checked  him  with  a  gesture,  and  proceeded. 

"  That  precedence  is  not  warranted  by  custom,  nor  by 
the  terms  of  our  alliance  ;  and  the  springs,  O  Pausanias,  are 
bounteous  enough  to  provide  for  all.  I  proceed.  You  have 
formally  sentenced  citizens  and  soldiers  to  the  scourge.  Nay, 
this  very  day  you  have  extended  the  sentence  to  one  in  act- 
ual command  among  the  Chians.     Is  it  not  so,  Antagoras  ?  " 

"It  is,"  said  the  young  Chian,  coming  forward  boldly; 
"  and  in  the  name  of  my  countrymen  I  demand  justice." 

"  And  I  also,  Uliades  of  Samos,"  said  a  thick-set  and 
burly  Greek  who  had  joined  the  group  unobserved,  "  /  de- 
mand justice.  What,  by  the  gods  !  Are  we  to  be  all  equals 
in  the  day  of  battle  ?  '  My  good  sir,  march  here  ;'  and,  '  My 
dear  sir,  just  run  into  that  -breach  ; '  and  yet  when  we  have 
won  the  victory  and  should  share  the  glory,  is  one  state,  nay, 
one  man,  to  seize  the  whole,  and  deal  out  iron  anchors  and 
tough  cowhides  to  his  companions  ?  No,  Spartans,  this  is 
not  your  \'iew  of  the  case  ;  you  suffer  in  the  eyes  of  Greece 
by  this  misconduct.     To  Sparta  itself  I  appeal." 

"  And  what,  most  patient  sir,"  said  Pausanias,  with  calm 
sarcasm,  though  his  eye  shot  fire,  and  the  upper  lip,  on  which 
no  Spartan  suffered  the  beard  to  grow,  slightly  quivered — 
"  what  is  yoi/r  contribution  to  the  catalogue  of  complaints  ?  " 

"Jest  not,  Pausanias;  you  will  find  me  in  earnest,"  an- 
swered Uliades,  doggedly,  and  encouraged  by  the  evident 
effect  that  his  eloquence  had  produced  upon  the  Spartans 
themselves.  "  I  have  mef  with  a  grievous  wrong,  and  all 
Greece  shall  hear  of  it,  if  it  be  not  redressed.  My  own 
brother,  who  at  Mycale  slew  four  Persians  with  his  own  hand, 
headed  a  detachment  for  forage.  He  and  his  men  were 
met  by  a  company  of  mixed  Laconians  and  Helots,  their 
forage  taken  from  them,  they  themselves  assaulted,  and  my 
brother,  a  man  who  has  moneys  and  maintains  forty  slaves 
of  his  own,  struck  thrice  across  the  face  by  a  rascally  Helot. 
Now,  Pausanias,  your  answer!  " 

"  You  have  prepared  a  notable  scene  for  the  commander 
of  your  forces,  son  of  Lysimachus,"  said  the  Spartan,  ad- 
drcssmg  himself  to  Aristides.     "  Far  be  it  from  me  to  affecl 


25  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTA!^. 

the  Agamemnon,  but  your  friends  are  less  modest  in  imita- 
ting the  ven-erable  model  of  Thersites.  Enough "  (and, 
changing  the  tone  of  his  voice,  the  chief  stamped  his  foot 
vehemently  to  the  ground  )  :  "  we  owe  no  account  to  our  in- 
feriors ;  we  render  no  explanation  save  to  Sparta  and  her 
Ephors." 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Aristides,  gravely  ;  "we  have  our 
answer,  and  you  will  hear  of  our  appeal." 

Pausanias  changed  color.  "  How  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  slight 
hesitation  in  his  tone.  "  Mean  you  to  threaten  me — Me — 
with  carrying  the  busy  tales  of  your  disaffection  to  the  Spar- 
tan government .''  " 

"  Time  will  show.  Farewell,  Pausanias.  We  will  detain 
you  no  longer  from  your  pastime." 

"  But,"  began  Uliades. 

"  Hush, "  said  the  Athenian,  laying  his  hand  on  the  Sa- 
mian's  shoulder.     ''  We  will  confer  anon." 

Pausanias  paused  a  moment,  irresolute  and  in  thought. 
His  eyes  glanced  toward  his  own  countrymen,  who,  true  to 
their  rigid  discipline,  neither  spake  nor  moved,  but  whose 
countenances  were  sullen  and  overcast,  and  at  that  moment 
his  pride  was  shaken,  and  his  heart  misgave  him.  Gongylus 
watched  his  countenance  and,  once  more  laying  his  hand 
on  his  arm,  said,  in  a  whisper, — 

"  He  who  seeks  to  rule  never  goes  back." 

"  Tush  !  you  know  not  the  Spartans." 

"  But  I  know  Human  Nature ;  it  is  the  same  ever}'-where. 
You  cannot  yield  to  this  insolence  ;  to-morrow,  of  your  own 
accord,  send  for  these  men  separately  and  pacify  them." 

"You  are  right.     Now  to  the  vessel !  " 

With  this,  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Persian,  and 
with  a  slight  wave  of  his  hand  toward  the  Athenians — he  did 
not  deign  even  that  gesture  to  the*  island  officers — Pausanias 
advanced  to  the  vessel,  and  slowly  ascending,  disappeared 
within  his  pavilion.  The  Spartans  and  the  musicians  fol- 
lowed ;  then,  spare  and  swarthy,  some  half  score  of  Egyp- 
tian sailors  ;  last  came  a  small  party  of  Laconians  and  He- 
lots, who,  standing  at  some  distance  behind  Pausanias,  had 
not  hitherto  been  observed.  The  former  were  but  slightly 
armed  ;  the  latter  had  forsaken  their  customary  rude  and 
savage  garb,  and  wore  long  gowns  and  gay  tunics,  somewhat 
in  the  fasliion  of  the  Lydians.  With  these  last  there  was 
one  of  a  mien  and  aspect  that  strongly  differed  from  the 
lowering  and  ferocious  cast  of  countenance  common  to  th* 


PA  us  AN/AS,   THE  SPARTAN.  2; 

Helot  race.  He  was  of  the  ordinar}'  stature,  and  his  frame 
was  not  characterized  by  any  appearance  of  unusual  strength  ; 
but  he  trod  the  earth  with  a  firm  step  and  an  erect  crest,  as 
if  the  curse  of  the  slave  had  not  yet  destroyed  the  inborn 
dignity  of  the  human  being.  There  were  a  certain  delicacy 
and  refinement,  rather  of  thought  than  beauty,  in  his  clear, 
sharp,  and  singularly  intelligent  features.  In  contradistinc- 
tion from  the  free-born  Spartans,  his  hair  was  short,  and 
curled  close  above  a  broad  and  manly  forehead  ;  and  his  large 
eyes  of  dark  blue  looked  full  and  bold  upon  the  Athenians 
with  something,  if  not  of  defiance,  at  least  of  pride  in  their 
gaze,  as  he  stalked  by  them  to  the  vessel. 

"  A  sturdy  fellow  for  a  Helot,"  muttered  Cimon. 

"  And  merits  well  his  freedom,"  said  the  son  of  Lysima 
chus.     "  I  remember  him  well.     He  is  Alcman,  the  foster- 
brother  of  Pausanias,  whom  he   attended  at  Plata^a.     Not  a 
Spartan  that  day  bore  himself  more  bravely." 

"  No  doubt  they  will  put  him  to  death  when  he  goes  back 
to  Sparta,"  said  Antagoras.  "  When  a  Helot  is  brave,  the 
Ephors  clap  the  black  mark  against  his  name,  and  at  the 
next  crypteia  he  suddenly  disappears." 

"  Pausanias  may  share  the  same  fate  as  his  Helot,  for  all 
I  care,"  quoth  Uliades.  "  Well,  Athenians,  what  say  you  to 
the  answer  we  have  received  }  " 

"That  Sparta  shall  hear  of  it,"  answered  Aristides. 

"  Ah,  but  is  that  all.''  Recollect  the  lonians  have  the 
majority  in  the  fleet ;  let  us  not  wait  for  the  slow  Ephors. 
Let  us  at  once  throw  off  this  insufferable  yoke,  and  proclaim 
Athens  the  Mistress  of  the  Seas.     What  say  you,  Cimon  ?  " 

"  Let  Aristides  answer." 

"  Yonder  lie  the  Athenian  vessels,"  said  Aristides. 
"  Those  who  put  themselves  voluntarily  under  our  protec- 
tion we  will  not  reject.  But  remember  we  assert  no  claim  ; 
we  yield  but  to  the  general  wish." 

"  Enough  ;   I  understand  you,"  said  Antagoras. 

"  Not  quite,"  returned  the  Athenian,  with  a  smile.  "  The 
\  'reach  between  you  and  Pausanias  is  begun,  but  it  is  not  yet 
wide  enough.  You  yourselves  must  do  that  which  will  annul 
all  power  in  the  Spartan,  and  then  if  ye  come  to  Athens  ye 
will  find  her  as  bold  against  the  Doric  despot  as  against  the 
Barbarian  foe." 

"  But  speak  more  plainly.  What  would  ye  have  us  do  ? " 
asked  Uliades,  rubbing  his  chin  in  great  perplexity. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  have  already  said  enough.     Fare  ye   well, 


j8  pausanias,  the  spartan. 

fellow-countrymen,"  and,  leaning  lightly  on  the    shoulder  of 
Cimon,  the  Athenian  passed  on. 

Meanwhile,  the  splendid  galley  of  Pausanias  slowly  put 
forth  into  the  farther  waters  of  the  bay.  The  oars  of  the 
rowers  broke  the  surface  into  countless  phosphoric  sparkles  ; 
and  the  sound  they  made,  as  they  dashed  amidst  the  gentle 
waters,  seemed  to  keep  time  with  the  song  and  the  instru- 
ments on  the  deck.  The  lonians  gazed  in  silence  as  the 
stately  vessel,  now  shooting  far  ahead  of  the  rest,  swept  into 
the  centre  of  the  bay.  And  the  moon,  just  rising,  shone  full 
upon  the  glittering  prow,  and  streaked  the  rippling  billows 
over  which  it  had  bounded,  with  a  light,  as  it  were,  of  glory. 

Antagoras  sighed. 

"  What  think  you  of  ?  "  asked  the  rough  Samian. 

'•'  Peace,  "  replied  Antagoras.  "  In  this  hour,  when  the 
fair  face  of  Artemis  recalls  the  old  legends  of  Endymion,  is 
it  not  permitted  to  man  to  remember  that  before  the  iron  age 
came  the  golden,  before  war  reigned  love  ?  " 

"  Tush  !  "  said  Uliades.  "  Time  enough  to  think  of  love 
when  we  have  satisfied  vengeance.  Let  us  summon  our 
friends,  and  hold  council  on  the  Spartan's  insults.  " 

"  Whither  goes  now  the  Spartan  }  "  murmured  Antagoras 
abstractedly,  as  he  suffered  his  companion  to  lead  him  away. 
Then,  halting  abruptly,  he  struck  his  clenched  hand  on  his 
breast. 

"  O  Aphrodite  !  "  he  cried;  "  this  night — this  night  I  will 
seek    thy   temple.     Hear  my  vows — soothe  my  jealousy  ! " 

"  Ah,  "  grunted  Uliades,  "  if,  as  men  say,  thou  lovest  a 
fair  Byzantine,  Aphrodite  will  have  sharp  work  to  cure  thee 
of  jealousy,  unless  she  first  makes  thee  blind. 

Antagoras  smiled  faintly,  and  the  two  lonians  moved  on 
slowly  and  in  silence.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the  quays 
were  deserted,  and  nothing  but  the  blended  murmur  spread- 
ing wide  and  indistinct  throughout  the  camp,  and  a  noisier 
but  occasional  burst  of  merriment  from  those  resorts  of 
obscener  pleasure  which  were  profusely  scattered  along  the 
haven,  mingled  with  the  whispers  of  "the  far  resounding 
sea,  ' 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  29 


CHAPTER  II. 

On  a  couch,  beneath  his  voluptuous  awning,  reclined 
Pausanias.  The  curtains,  drawn  aside,  gave  to  view  the 
moonlit  ocean  and  the  dim  shadows  of  the  shore,  with  the 
dark  woods  beyond,  relieved  by  the  distant  lights  of  the  city. 
On  one  side  of  the  Spartan  was  a  small  table,  that  supported 
goblets  and  vases  of  that  exquisite  wine  which  Maronea  prof- 
fered to  the  thirst  of  the  Byzantine  ;  and  those  cooling  and 
delicious  fruits  which  the  orchards  around  the  city  supplied 
as  amply  as  the  fabled  gardens  of  the  Hesperides,  were  heaped 
on  the  other  side.  Toward  the  foot  of  the  couch,  propped 
upon  cushions  piled  on  the  floor,  sat  Gongylus,  conversing  in 
a  low,  earnest  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes  steadfastly  on  the 
Spartan.  The  habits  of  the  Eretrian's  life,  which  had  brought 
him  in  constant  contact  with  the  Persians,  had  infected  his 
very  language  with  the  luxuriant  extravagance  of  the  East. 
And  the  thoi:ghts  he  uttered  made  his  language  but  too 
musical  to  the  ears  of  the  listening  Spartan. 

"  And  fair  as  these  climes  may  seem  to  you,  and  rich  as 
are  the  gardens  and  granaries  of  Byzantium,  yet  to  me  who 
have  stood  on  the  terraces  of  Babylon  and  looked  upon  groves 
covering  with  blossom  and  fruit  the  very  fortresses  and  walls 
of  that  queen  of  nations — to  me,  who  have  roved  amidst  the 
vast  delights  of  Susa,  through  palaces  whose  very  porticoes 
might  enclose  the  limits  of  a  Grecian  city — who  have  stood, 
awed  and  dazzled,  in  the  courts  of  that  wonder  of  the  world, 
that  crown  of  the  East,  the  marble  magnificence  of  Persepolis 
— to  me,  Pausanias,  who  have  been  thus  admitted  into  the 
very  heart  of  Persian  glories,  this  city  of  Byzantium  appears 
but  a  village  of  artisans  and  fishermen.  The  very  foliage  of 
its  forests,  pale  and  sickly,  the  very  moonlight  upon  these 
waters,  cold  and  smileless — ah,  if  thou  couldst  but  see  !  But 
pardon  me,  I  weary  thee  ?  " 

■  "  Not  so,"  said  the  Spartan,  who,  raised  upon  his  elbow, 
listened  to  the  words  of  Gongylus  with  deep  attention. 
"  Proceed." 

"  Ah,  if  thou  couldst  but  see  the  fair  regions  which  the 
great  king  has  apportioned  to  thy  countryman,  Demaratus. 
And  if  a  domain  that  would  satiate  the  ambition  of  the  most 
craving  of  your  earlier  tyrants  fall  to  Demaratus,  what  would 


30  PA  us  A  AU AS    THE  SPARTAN. 

be  the  splendid  satrapy  in  which  the  conqueror  of  Platrca 
might  plant  his  throne  ?  " 

"  In  truth,  my  renown  and  my  power  are  greater  than 
those  ever  possessed  by  Demaratus,"  said  the  Spartan,  mus- 
ingly. 

"  Yet,"  pursued  Gongylus,  "  it  is  not  so  much  the  mere 
extent  of  the  territories  which  the  Xerxes  could  proffer  to  the 
brave  Pausanias — it  is  not  their  extent  so  much  that  might 
tempt  desire,  neither  is  it  their  stately  forests,  nor  the  fertile 
meadows,  nor  the  ocean-like  rivers,  which  the  gods  of  the 
East  have  given  to  the  race  of  Cyrus.  There,  free  from  the 
strange  constraints  which  our  austere  customs  and  solemn 
deities  impose  upon  the  Greeks,  the  beneficient  Ormuzd  scat- 
ters ever-varying  delight  upon  the  paths  of  men.  All  that  Art 
can  invent,  all  that  the  marts  of  the  universe  can  afford  of  the 
rare  and  voluptuous  are  lavished  upon  abodes  the  splendor  of 
which  even  our  idle  dreams  of  Olympus  never  shadowed  forth. 
There,  instead  of  the  harsh  and  imperious  helpmate  to  whom 
the  joyless  Spartan  confines  his  reluctant  love,  all  the  beauties 
of  every  clime  contend  for  the  smile  of  their  lord.  And  where- 
ever  are  turned  the  change-loving  eyes  of  Passion,  the 
Aphrodite  of  our  poets,  such  as  the  Cytherean  and  the  Cyprian 
fable  her,  seems  to  recline  on  the  lotus  leaf  or  to  rise  from 
the  unruffled  ocean  of  delight.  Instead  of  the  gloomy  brows 
and  the  harsh  tones  of  rivals  envious  of  your  fame,  hosts  of 
friends  aspiring  only  to  be  followers  will  catch  gladness  from 
your  smile  or  sorrow  from  your  frown.  There,  no  jarring 
contests  with  little  men,  who  deem  themselves  the  equals  of 
the  great,  no  jealous  Ephor  is  found,  to  load  the  commonest 
acts  of  life  with  fetters  of  iron  custom.  Talk  of  liberty ! 
Liberty  in  Sparta  is  but  one  eternal  servitude  ;  you  cannot 
move,  or  eat,  or  sleep,  save  as  the  law  directs.  Your  very 
children  are  wrested  from  you  just  in  the  age  when  their  voices 
soimd  most  sweet.  Ye  are  not  men ;  ye  are  machines. 
Call  you  this  liberty,  Pausanias  .?  I,  a  Greek,  have  known 
both  Grecian  liberty  and  Persian  royalty.  Better  be  chief- 
tain to  a  king  than  servant  to  a  mob  !  But  in  Eretria  at 
least,  pleasure  was  not  denied.  In  Sparta  the  very  Graces 
preside  over  discipline  and  war  only." 

"Your  fire  falls  upon  flax,"  said  Pausanias,  rising,  and 
with  passionate  emotion.  "  And  if  you,  the  Greek  of  a  hap- 
pier state,  you  who  know  but  by  report  the  unnatural  bondage 
to  which  the  Spartans  are  subjected,  can  weary  of  the  very 
name  of  Greek,  what  must  be  the  feelings  of  one  who  from 


PA  us  A  NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  31 

the  cradle  upward  has  been  starved  out  of  the  genial  desires 
of  life  ?  Even  in  earliest  youth,  while  yet  all  other  lands  and 
customs  were  unknown,  when  it  was  duly  poured  into  my  ears 
that  to  be  born  a  Spartan  constituted  the  glory  and  the  bliss 
of  earth,  my  soul  sickened  at  the  lesson,  and  my  reason 
revolted  against  the  lie.  Often  when  my  whole  body  was 
lacerated  with  stripes,  disdaining  to  groan,  I  yet  yearned  to 
strike,  and  I  cursed  my  savage  tutors  who  denied  pleasure 
even  to  childhood  with  all  the  madness  of  impotent  revenge. 
My  mother  herself  (sweet  name  elsewhere)  had  no  kindnes? 
in  her  face.  She  was  the  pride  of  the  matronage  of  Sparta 
because  of  all  our  women  Alithea  was  the  most  unsexed. 
When  I  went  forth  to  my  first  crypteia,  to  watch,  amidst  the 
wintry  dreariness  of  the  mountains,  upon  the  movements  of 
the  wretched  Helots,  to  spy  upon  their  sufferings,  to  take 
account  of  their  groans,  and  if  one  more  manly  than  the  rest 
dared  to  mingle  curses  with  his  groans,  to  mark  him  for 
slaughter,  as  a  wolf  that  threatened  danger  to  the  fold ;  to 
lurk,  an  assassin,  about  his  home,  to  dog  his  walks,  to  fall  on 
him  unawares,  to  strike  him  from  behind,  to  filch  away  his 
life,  to  bury  him  in  the  ravines,  so  that  murder  might  leave 
no  trace  ;  when  upon  this  initiating  campaign,  the  virgin  trials 
of  our  )'outh,  I  first  set  forth,  my  mother  drew  near,  and  gird- 
ing me  herself  with  my  grandsire's  sword,  '  Go  forth,'  she 
said,  '  as  the  young  hound  to  the  chase,  to  wind,  to  double, 
to  leap  on  the  prey,  and  to  taste  of  blood.  See,  the  sword 
is  bright ;  show  me  the  stains  at  thy  return.'  " 

"  Is  it,  then,  true,  as  the  Greeks  generally  declare,"  in- 
terrupted Congylus,  "  that  in  these  campaigns,  or  crypteias, 
the  sole  aim  and  object  is  the  massacre  of  Helots  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  replied  Pausanias  ;  "  savage  though  the  cus- 
tom, it  smells  not  so  foully  of  the  shambles.  The  avowed 
object  is  to  harden  the  nerves  of  our  youth.  Barefooted, 
Hnattended,  through  cold  and  storm,  performing  ourselves 
the  most  menial  offices  necessar}'^  to  life,  we  wander  for  a 
certain  season  daily  and  nightly  through  the  rugged  terri- 
tories of  Laconia.*  ^^'e  go  as  boys — we  come  back  as 
men.  f  The  avowed  object,  I  say,  is  inurement  to  hardship, 
but  with  this  is  connected  the  secret  end  of  keeping  watch 
on  these  half-tamed  and  bull  like  herds  of  men  whom  we 
call  the  Helots.     If  any  be  dangerous,  we  mark  him  for  the 

*  Plat.  Leg.  i.,  p.  633.     See  also  Miiller's  "Dorians,"  vol.  ii  ,  p.  41. 
\  Piieros   pubercs — neque    prius  in   urbem    redire  quam  viri  facti  es 
sent. — Justin,  iii  ,  3. 


32  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 

knife.  One  of  them  had  thrice  been  a  ringleader  in  revolt. 
He  was  wary  as  well  as  fierce.  He  had  escaped  in  three 
succeeding  crypteias.  To  me,  as  one  of  the  Heraclidas,  was 
assigned  the  honor  of  tracking  and  destroying  him.  For 
three  days  and  three  nights  I  dogged  his  footsteps  (for  he 
had  caught  the  scent  of  the  pursuers  and  fled),  through 
forest  and  defile,  through  valley  and  crag,  stealthily  and 
relentlessly.  I  followed  him  close.  At  last,  one  evening, 
having  lost  sight  of  all  my  comrades,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  him  as  I  emerged  from  a  wood.  It  was  a  broad 
patch  of  waste  land,  through  which  rushed  a  stream  "swol- 
len by  the  rains,  and  plunging  with  a  sullen  roar  down 
a  deep  and  gloomy  precipice,  that  to  the  right  and  left 
bounded  the  waste,  the  stream  in  front,  the  wood  in  the 
rear.  He  was  reclining  by  the  stream,  at  which,  with  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  he  quenched  his  thirst.  I  paused  to 
gaze  upon  him,  and  as  I  did  so  he  turned  and  saw  me.  He 
rose  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  mine,  and  we  examined  each 
other  in  silence.  The  Helots  are  rarely  of  tall  stature,  but 
this  was  a  giant.  His  dress,  that  of  his  tribe,  of  rude  sheei> 
skins,  and  his  cap,  made  from  the  hide  of  a  dog,  increased 
the  savage  rudeness  of  his  appearance.  I  rejoiced  that  he 
saw  me,  and  that,  as  we  were  alone.  I  might  fight  him  fairly. 
It  would  have  been  terrible  to  slay  the  wretch  if  I  had  caught 
him  in  his  sleep." 

"  Proceed,"  said  Gong}lus,  with  interest,  for  so  little  was 
known  of  Sparta  by  the  rest  of  the  Greeks,  especially  out- 
side the  Peloponnesus,  that  these  details  gratified  his  nat- 
ural spirit  of  gossiping  inquisitiveness. 

"  *  Stand  !  '  said  I,  and  he  moved  not.  I  approached  him 
slowly.  'Thou  art  a  Spartan,'  said  he,  in  a  deep  and  harsh 
voice,  'and  thou  comest  for  my  blood.  Go,  boy,  go  ;  thou 
art  not  mellowed  to  thy  prime,  and  thy  comrades  are  far 
away.  The  shears  of  the  Fatal  deities  hover  over  the 
thread,  not  of  my  life,  but  of  thine.'  I  was  struck,  Gongy- 
his,  by  this  address,  for  it  was  neither  desperate  nor  das 
tardly,  as  I  had  anticipated  ;  nevertheless,  it  beseemed  not  a 
Spartan  to  fly  from  a  Helot,  and  I  drew  the  sword  which 
my  mother  had  girded  on.  The  Helot  watched  my  move- 
ments, and  seized  a  rude  and  knotted  club  that  lay  on  the 
ground  beside  him. 

"  '  Wretch,'  said  I,  '  darest  tliou  attack  face  to  face  a  de 
sccndant  of  the  Hcraclida.^  ?  In  me  behold  Pausanias,  the 
son  of  Cleombrotus.' 


PAUSAiYlAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 


33 


(( 


'  Be  it  so  ;  in   the   city  one  is  the   god-born,  the  other 
the  man-enslaved.     On  the  mountains  we  are  equals.' 

"  *  Knowest  thou  not,'  said  I,  '  that  if  the  gods  condemned 
me  to  die  by  thy  hand,  not  only  thou,  but  thy  whole  house, 
thy  wife  and  thy  children,  would  be  sacrificed  to  my  ghost .-" 

"  '  The  earth  can  hide  the  Spartan's  bones  as  secretly  as 
Iht  Helot's,'  answered  my  strange  foe.  'Begone,  young 
and  unfleshed  in  slaughter  as  you  are  ;  why  make  war  upon 
me  ?  My  death  can  give  you  neither  gold  nor  glory.  1 
have  never  harmed  thee  or  thine.  How  much  of  the  ait 
and  sun  does  this  form  take  from  the  descendant  of  the 
Heraclidre  .'' ' 

"'Thrice  hast  thou  raised  revolt  among  the  Helots; 
thrice  at  thy  voice  have  they  risen  in  bloody,  though  fruit- 
less, strife  against  their  masters.' 

"  '  Not  at  my  voice,  but  at  that  of  the  two  deities  who 
are  the  war-gods  of  slaves — Persecution  and  Despair.'* 

"  Impatient  of  this  parley,  I  tarried  no  longer.  I  sprung 
upon  the  Helot.  He  evaded  my  sword,  and  I  soon  found 
that  all  my  agility  and  skill  were  requisite  to  save  me  from 
the  massive  weapon  one  blow  of  which  would  have  sufficed 
to  crush  me.  But  the  Helot  seemed  to  stand  on  the  de- 
fensive, and  continued  to  back  toward  the  wood  from  which 
I  had  emerged.  Fearful  lest  he  would  escape  me,  I  pressed 
hard  on  his  footsteps.  My  blood  grew  wMrm  ;  my  fury 
got  the  better  of  my  prudence.  My  foot  stumbled  ;  I  re- 
covered in  an  instant,  and,  looking  up,  beheld  the  terrible 
club  suspended  over  my  head  ;  it  might  have  fallen,  but 
the  stroke  of  death  was  withheld.  I  misinterpreted  the 
merciful  delay  ;  the  lifted  arm  left  the  body  of  my  enemy 
exposed.  I  struck  him  on  the  side;  the  thick  hide  blunted 
the  stroke,  but  it  drew  blood.  Afraid  to  draw  back  within 
the  reach  of  his  weapon,  I  threw  myself  on  him,  and  grap- 
pled to  his  throat.  We  rolled  on  the  earth  together;  it 
was  but  a  moment's  struggle.  Strong  as  I  was  even  in 
boyhood,  the  Helot  would  have  been  a  match  for  Alcides. 
A  shade  passed  over  my  eyes;  my  breath  heaved  short. 
The  slave  was  kneeling  on  my  breast,  and,  dropping  the 
club,  he  drew  a  short  knife  from  his  girdle.     I  gazed  upon 

*  When  Themistocles  sought  to  extort  tribute  from  the  Andrians,  he 
said,  "  I  bring  with  me  two  powerful  ods — Persuasion  and  Force." 
"And  on  our  side,"  was  the  answer,  "  are  two  deities  not  less  powerful— 
Tovertyand  Despair.'  " 


34 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 


him  grim  and  mute.     1  was  conquered,  and  I  cared  not  foi 
the  rest. 

"The  blood  from  his  side,  as  he  bent  over  me,  trickled 
down  upon  my  face. 

'•  'And  this  blood,'  said  the  Helot,  'you  shed  in  the  very 
moment  when  I  spared  your  life  :  such  is  the  honor  of  a 
Spartan.     Do  you  not  deserve  to  die  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  for  1  am  subdued,  and  by  a  slave.     Strihc. !  ' 

"'There,'  said  the  Helot,  in  a  melancholy  and  altered 
tone,  '  there  sjDeaks  the  soul  of  the  Dorian,  the  fatal  spirit 
to  which  the  gods  have  rendered  up  our  wretched  race. 
We  are  doomed — doomed — and  one  victim  will  not  expiate 
our  curse.  Rise,  return  to  Sparta,  and  forget  that  thou  art 
mnocent  of  murder.' 

"  He  lifted  his  knee  from  my  breast,  and  I  rose,  ashamed 
and  humbled. 

"  At  that  instant  1  heard  the  crashing  of  the  leaves  in  the 
wood,  for  the  air  was  exceedingly  still.  I  knew  that  my 
companions  were  at  hand.  '  Fly,'  I  cried ;  '  fly.  If  they 
come  I  cannot  save  thee,  royal  though  I  be.     Fly.' 

"'And  wouldest  thou  save  me!  '  said  the  Helot  in  sur- 
prise. ^ 

" '  Ay,  with  my  own  life.  Canst  thou  doubt  it  ?  Lose 
not  a  moment.  Fly.  Yet  stay  ;'  and  I  tore  off  a  part  of 
the  woolen  vest  that  I  wore.  '  Place  this  at  thy  side ; 
stanch  the  blood,  that  it  may  not  track  thee.     Now,  begone  !' 

"The  Helot  looked  hard  at  me,  and  I  thought  there  were 
tears  in  his  rude  eyes ;  then,  catching  up  the  club  with  as 
much  ease  as  I  this  staff,  he  sped  with  inconceivable  ra- 
pidity, despite  his  wound,  toward  the  precipice  on  the  right, 
and  disappeared  amidst  the  thick  brambles  that  clothed  the 
gorge.  In  a  few  moments  three  of  my  companions  ap- 
]iroached.  They  found  me  exhausted,  and  panting  rather 
v.ith  excitement  than  fatigue.  Their  quick  eyes  detected 
llie  blood  upon  the  ground.  I  gave  them  no  time  to  pause 
and  examine.  '  He  has  escaped  me — he  has  fled,'  I  cried  : 
*  follow,'  and  I  led  them  to  the  opposite  part  of  the  ])iecipice 
{'rom  that  which  the  Helot  had  taken.  Heading  the  search 
1  pretended  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  goatskin  ever  and  anon 
through  the  trees,  and  I  stayed  not  the  pursuit  till  night  grew 
dark,  and  I  judged  the  victun  was  far  away." 

"  And  he  escaped  .''  " 

"  He  did.  The  crypteia  ended.  Tliree  other  Helots 
were  slain,  but  not  by  me.     We   returned  to  Sparta,  and  my 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  35 

mother  was  comforted  for  my  misfortune  in  not  having'  slain 
my  foe  by  seeing  the  stains  on  my  grandsire's  sword.  I  will 
tell  thee  a  secret,  Gongylus" — and  here  Pausanias  lowered 
his  voice,  and  looked  anxiously  toward  him — "  since  that 
day  I  have  not  hated  the  Helot  race.  Nay,  it  may  be  that 
I  have  loved  them  better  than  the  Dorian." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  But  has  not  your  wounded  giant 
yet  met  with  his  death  t  " 

"  No,  I  nev^er  related  what  had  passed  between  us  to  any 
one  save  my  father.  He  was  gentle  for  a  Spartan,  and  he 
rested  not  till  Gylippus — so  was  the  Helot  named — obtained 
exemption  from  the  black  list.  He  dared  not,  however,  at- 
tribute his  intercession  to  the  true  cause.  It  happened, 
fortunately,  that  Gylippus  was  related  to  my  own  foster- 
brother,  Alcman,  brother  to  my  nurse ;  and  Alcman  is  cele- 
brated in  Sparta,  not  only  for  courage  in  war,  but  for  arts 
in  peace.  He  is  a  poet,  and  his  strains  please  the  Dorian 
'^ar,  for  they  are  stern  and  simple,  and  they  breathe  of  war. 
Alcman's  merits  won  forgiveness  for  the  offenses  of  Gylip- 
pus.    May  the  gods  be  kind  to  his  race  ! " 

"  Your  Alcman  seems  one  of  no  common  intelligence, 
and  your  gentleness  to  him  does  not  astonish  me,  though  it 
seems  often  to  raise  a  frown  on  the  brows  of  your  Spartans." 

"  We  have  lain  on  the  same  bosom,"  said  Pausanias, 
touchingly,  "  and  his  mother  was  kinder  to  me  than  my  own. 
You  must  know  that  to  those  Helots  who  have  been  our 
foster-brothers,  and  whom  we  distinguish  by  the  name  of 
Mothons,  our  stern  law  relaxes.  They  have  no  rights  of 
citizenship,  it  is  true,  but  they  cease  to  be  slaves ;  *  nay, 
sometimes  they  attain  not  only  to  entire  emancipation,  but 
to  distinction.  Alcman  has  bound  his  fate  to  mine.  But  to 
return,  Gongylus.  I  tell  thee  that  it  is  not  thy  descriptions 
of  pomp  and  dominion  that  allure  me,  though  I  am  not  above 
the  love  of  power ;  neither  is  it  thy  glowing  promises,  though 
blood  too  wild  for  a  Dorian  runs  riot  in  mv  veins  :  but  it  is 
my  deep  loathing,  my  inexpressible  disgust  for  Sparta  and 
her  laws,  my  horror  at  the  thought  of  wearing  away  life  in 
those  sullen  customs,  amidst  that  joyless  round  of  tyrannic 
duties,  in  my  rapture  at  the  hope  of  escape,  of  life  in  a  land 
which  the  eye  of  the  Ephor  never  pierces  ;  this  it  is,  and  this 
alone,  O   Persian,  that  makes  me  (the  words   must  out)  a 

*  The  appellation  of  Mothons  was  not  confined  to  the  Helots  who 
claimed  the  connection  of  foster-brothers,  but  was  given  also  to  house 
hold  slaves. 


36  FAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 

traitor   to   my   country — one   who   dreams   of   becoming    a 
dependent  on  her  foe," 

"  Nay,"  said  Gongyhis,  eagerly ;  for  here  Pausanias 
moved  uneasily,  and  the  color  mounted  to  his  brow.  "  Nay, 
speak  not  of  dependence.  Consider  the  proposals  that  you 
can  alone  condescend  to  offer  to  the  great  king.  Can  the 
conqueror  of  Platasa,  with  millions  for  his  subjects,  hold  him- 
self dependent,  even  on  the  sovereign  of  the  East  ?  How, 
hereafter,  will  the  memories  of  our  sterile  Greece  and  your 
rocky  Sparta  fade  from  your  mind ;  or  be  remembered  only 
as  a  state  of  thralldom  and  bondage,  which  your  riper  man- 
hood has  outgrown  ! " 

"  I  will  try  to  think  so,  at  least,"  said  Pausanias,  gloom- 
ily. "  And,  come  what  may,  I  am  not  one  to-  recede.  1  have 
thrown  my  shield  into  a  fearful  peril  ;  but  I  will  win  it  back 
or  perish.  Enough  of  this,  Gongylus.  Night  advances.  I 
will  attend  the  appointment  you  have  made.  Take  the  boat, 
and  within  an  hour  I  will  meet  you  with  the  prisoners  at  the 
spot  agreed  on,  near  the  Temple  of  Aphrodite.  All  things 
are  prepared  ? "' 

"All,"  said  Gongylus,  rising,  with  a  gleam  of  malignant 
joy  on  his  dark  face.  "  I  leave  thee,  kingly  slave  of  the 
rocky  Sparta,  to  prepare  the  way  for  thee,  as  Satrap  of  hall 
the  East." 

So  saying,  he  quit  the  awning,  and  motioned  three 
Egyptian  sailors  who  lay  on  the  deck  without.  A  boat  was 
lowered,  and  the  sound  of  its  oars  woke  Pausanias  fi  om  the 
reverie  into  which  the  parting  words  of  the  Eretri  in  had 
plunged  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

With  a  slow  and  thoughtful  step,  Pausanias  pass>id  on  to 
the  outer  deck.  The  moon  was  up,  and  the  vessel  scarcely 
seemed  to  stir,  so  gently  did  it  glide  along  the  sparkling 
waters.  They  were  still  within  the  bay,  and  the  shores  rose, 
white  and  distinct,  to  his  view.  A  group  of  Spartans>,  reclin- 
ing by  the  side  of  the  ship,  were  gazing  listlessl)  on  the 
waters.     The  Regent  paused  beside  them. 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  spartan:  37 

"  Ye  weary  of  the  ocean,  methinks,"  said  he.  "  We  Dor 
ians  have  not  the  merchant  tastes  of  the  lonians."* 

"  Son  of  Cleombrotus,"  said  one  of  the  group,  a  Spartan 
whose  rank  and  services  entitled  him  to  more  than  ordinary- 
familiarity  with  the  chief,  "  it  is  not  the  ocean  itself  that  we 
should  dread;  it  is  the  contagion  of  those  who,  living  on  the 
element,  seem  to  share  in  its  ebb  and  flow.  The  lonians  are 
never  three  hours  in  the  same  mind." 

"  For  that  reason,"  said  Pausanias,  fixing  his  eyes  stead- 
fastly on  the  Spartan,  "  for  that  reason  I  have  judged  it  ad- 
visable to  adopt  a  rough  manner  with  these  innovators,  to 
draw  with  a  broad  chalk  the  line  between  them  and  the 
Spartans,  and  to  teach  those  who  never  knew  discipline  the 
stern  duties  of  obedience.     Think  you  I  have  done  wisely  ?  " 

The  Spartan,  who  had  risen  when  Pausanias  addressed 
him,  drew  his  chief  a  little  aside  from  the  rest. 

"  Pausanias,"  said  he,  "  the  hard  Naxian  stone  best  tames 
and  tempers  the  fine  steel  ;t  but  the  steel  may  break  if  the 
workman  be  not  skilful.  These  Athenians  are  grown  inso- 
lent since  Marathon,  and  their  soft  kindred  of  Asia  have  re- 
lighted the  fires  they  took  of  old  from  the  Cecropian  Pryt- 
aneum.  Their  sail  is  more  numerous  than  ours  ;  on  the  sea 
they  find  the  courage  they  lose  on  land.  Better  be  gentle 
with  those  wayward  allies,  for  the  Spartan  greyhound  shows 
not  his  teeth  but  to  bite." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  w-ill  consider  these  things,  and 
appease  the  mutineers.  But  it  goes  hard  with  my  pride, 
Thrasyllus,  to  make  equals  of  this  soft-tongued  race.  Why, 
these  lonians,  do  they  not  enjoy  themselves  in  perpetual  holi- 
days ? — spend  days  at  the  banquet  ? — ransack  earth  and  sea 
for  dainties  and  for  perfumes  ? — aad  shall  they  be  the  equals 
of  us  men,  who,  from  the  age  of  seven  to  that  of  sixty,  are 
wisely  taught  to  make  life  so  barren  and  toilsome  that  we 
may  well  have  no  fear  of  death  ?  I  hate  these  sleek  and 
merry  feast-givers ;  they  are  a  perpetual  insult  to  our  solemn 
existence." 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  irony  and  passion  in  the 
Spartan's  voice  as  he  thus  spoke,  and  Thrasyllus  looked  at 
him  in  grave  surprise. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  envy  in  the  woman-like  debauch- 
eries of  the  Ionian,"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 

*  No  Spartan  served  as  a  sailor,  or  indeed  condescended  to  any  trade 
or  calling  but  that  of  war. 

t  Find."  Isth,  V.  (vi.)73. 


38  PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN. 

"  Envy  !  no  ;  we  only  hate  them,  Thrasyllus.  Yon  Ere 
trian  tells  me  rare  things  of  the  East.  Time  may  come  when 
we  shall  sup  on  the  black  broth  in  Susa." 

"  The  gods  forbid  !  Sparta  never  invades.  Life  with  iis 
is  too  precious,  for  we  are  few.  Pausanias,  I  would  we  were 
well  quit  of  Byzantium.  I  do  not  suspect  you,  not  I ;  but 
there  are  those  who  look  with  vexed  eyes  on  those  garments, 
and  I,  who  love  you,  fear  the  sharp  jealousies  of  the  Ephors, 
to  whose  ears  the  birds  carry  all  tidings." 

"  My  poor  Thrasyllus,"  said  Pausanias,  laughing  scornful- 
ly, "  think  you  that  I  wear  these  robes,  or  mimic  the  Median 
manners,  for  love  of  the  Mede  .'  No,  no  !  But  there  are  arts 
which  save  countries  as  well  as  those  of  war.  This  Gongy- 
lus  is  in  the  confidence  of  Xerxes.  I  desire  to  establish  a 
peace  for  Greece  upon  everlasting  foundations.  Reflect ; 
Persia  hath  Millions  yet  left.  Another  invasion  may  find  a 
different  fortune  ;  and,  even  at  the  best,  Sparta  gains  noth- 
ing by  these  wars.  Athens  triumphs,  not  Lacedaemon.  I 
would,  I  say,  establish  a  peace  with  Persia.  I  would  that 
Sparta,  not  Athens,  should  have  that  honor.  Hence  these 
flatteries  to  the  Persian — trivial  to  us  who  render  them,  sweet 
and  powerful  to  those  who  receive.  Remember  these  words 
hereafter,  if  the  Ephors  make  question  of  my  discretion.  And 
now,  Thrasyllus,  return  to  our  friends,  and  satisfy  them  as  to 
the  conduct  of  Pausanias." 

Quitting  Thrasyllus,  the  Regent  now  joined  a  young  Spar- 
tan who  stood  alone  by  the  prow  in  a  musing  attitude. 

"  Lysander,  my  friend,  my  only  friend,  my  best-loved 
Lysander,"  said  Pausanias,  placing  his  hand  on  the  Spartan's 
shoulder.     "  And  why  so  sad .-"  " 

"  How  many  leagues  are  we  from  Sparta  ?  "  answered  Ly- 
sander, mournfully. 

"  And  canst  thou  sigh  for  the  black  broth,  my  friend } 
Come,  how  often  hast  thou  said,  '  Where  Pausanias  is,  there 
is  Sparta  ! '  " 

"  Forgive  me,  I  am  ungrateful,"  said  Lysander,  with  warmth. 
My  benefactor,  my  guardian,  my  hero,  forgive  me  if  I  have 
added  to  your  own  countless  causes  of  anxiety.  Wherever 
you  are,  there  is  life,  and  there  glory.  When  I  was  just 
born,  sickly  and  feeble,  I  was  exposed  on  Taygetus.  You, 
then  a  boy,  heard  my  faint  cry,  and  took  on  me  that  compas- 
sion which  my  parents  had  forsworn.  You  bore  me  to  your 
father's  roof,  you  interceded  for  my  life.  You  prevailed  even 
on  your  stern  mother.     I   was  saved ;  and  the  gods  smiled 


PAUSAN'.'AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  35 

upon  the  infant  whom  the  son  of  the  humane  Hercules  pro- 
tected. I  grew  up  strong  and  hardy,  and  belied  the  signs  of 
my  birth.  My  parents  then  owned  me ;  but  still  you  were 
my  fosterer,  my  saviour,  my  more  than  father.  As  I  grew  up 
placed  under  your  care,  I  inbibed  my  first  lesson  of  war.  By 
your  side  I  fought,  and  from  your  example  I  won  glory.  Yes 
Pausanias,  even  here,  amidst  luxuries  which  revolt  me  more 
than  the  Parthian  bow  and  the  Persian  sword,  even  amidst 
the  faces  of  the  stranger,  I  still  feel  thy  presence  my  home, 
thyself  my  Sparta." 

The  proud  Pausanias  was  touched,  and  his  voice  trembled 
as  he  replied,  "  Brother  in  arms  and  in  love,  whatever  service 
fate  may  have  allowed  me  to  render  unto  thee,  thy  high  na- 
ture and  thy  cheering  affection  have  more  than  paid  me  back. 
Often  in  our  lonely  rambles  amidst  the  dark  oaks  of  the 
sacred  Scotitos,  *  or  by  the  wayward  waters  of  Tiasa,  f  w'hen 
I  have  poured  into  thy  faithful  breast  my  impatient  loathing, 
my  ineffable  distaste  for  the  iron  life,  the  countless  and  wear- 
isome tyrannies  of  custom  which  surround  the  Spartans,  of- 
ten have  I  found  a  consoling  refuge  in  thy  divine  content- 
ment, thy  cheerful  wisdom.  Thou  lovest  Sparta  ;  why  is  she 
not  worthier  of  thy  love  ?  Allowed  only  to  be  half  men,  in 
war  we  are  demi-gods  ;  in  peace,  slaves.  Thou  wouldst  in- 
terrupt me.  Be  silent.  I  am  in  a  wilful  mood ;  thou  canst 
not  comprehend  me,  and  I  often  marvel  at  thee.  Still  we  are 
friends,  such  friends  as  the  Dorian  discipline,  which  makes 
friendship  necessary  in  order  to  endure  life,  alone  can  form. 
Come,  take  up  thy  staff  and  mantle.  Thou  shalt  be  my  compan- 
ion ashore.  I  seek  one  whom  alone  in  the  world  I  love  better 
than  thee.  To-morrow  to  stern  duties  once  more.  Alcman 
shall  row  us  across  the  bay ;  and  as  we  glide  along,  if  thou 
wilt  praise  Sparta,  I  will  listen  to  thee  as  the  lonians  listen 
to  their  tale-tellers.  Ho  !  Alcman,  stop  the  rowers,  and 
lower  the  boat." 

The  orders  were  obeyed,  and  a  second  boat  soon  darted 
toward  tlie  same  part  of  the  bay  as  that  to  which  the  one  that 
bore  Gong}dus  had  directed  its  course.  Thrasyllus  and  his 
companions  watched  the  boat  that  bore  Pausanias  and  his 
two  comrades,  as  it  bounded,  arrow-like,  over  the  glassy  sea. 

"  Whither  goes  Pausanias  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  Spartans. 

"  Back  to  Byzantium  on  business,"  replied  Thrasyllus. 

"  And  we  ?  " 

*Paus.  ,  Lac.x.  t  Ibid.,  c.  xviii- 


40  FAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"  Are  to  cruise  in  the  bay  *^M1  his  return." 

"  Pausanias  is  changed." 

"  Sparta  will  restore  him  to  what  he  was.  Nothing 
thrives  out  of  Sparta.     Even  man  spoils." 

"True,  sleep  is  the  sole  constant  friend,  the  same  in  all 
climates." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

On  the  shore  to  the  right  of  the  port  of  Byzantine  were 
at  that  time  thickly  scattered  the  villas  or  suburban  retreats 
of  the  wealthier  and  more  luxurious  citizens.  Byzantine 
was  originally  colonized  by  the  Megarians,  a  Dorian  race 
kindred  with  that  of  Sparta  ;  and  the  old  features  of  the 
pure  and  antique  Hellas  were  still  preserved  in  the  dialect,* 
as  well  as  in  the  forms,  of  the  descendants  of  the  colonists ; 
in  their  favorite  deities  and  rites  and  traditions;  even  in  the 
names  of  places,  transferred  from  the  sterile  Megara  to  that 
fertile  coast ;  in  the  rigid  and  Helot-like  slavery  to  which 
the  native  Bithnians  were  subjected ;  and  in  the  attachment 
of  their  masters  to  the  oligarchic  principles  of  government. 
Nor  was  it  till  long  after  the  present  date  that  democracy  in 
its  most  corrupt  and  licentious  form  was  introduced  among 
them.  But  like  all  the  Dorian  colonies,  when  once  they  de- 
parted from  the  severe  and  masculine  mode  of  life  inheri- 
ted from  their  ancestors,  the  reaction  was  rapid,  the  degen- 
eracy complete.  Even  then  the  Byzantines,  intermingled 
with  the  foreign  merchants  and  traders  that  thronged  theii 
haven,  and  womanized  by  the  soft  contagion  of  the  East, 
v/ere  voluptuous,  timid,  and  prone  to  every  excess  save  that 
of  valor.  The  higher  class  were  exceedingly  wealthy,  and 
gave  to  their  vices  or  their  pleasures  a  splendor  and  refine- 
ment of  which  the  elder  states  of  Greece  were  as  yel  uncon- 
scious. At  a  later  period,  indeed,  we  are  informed  tnat  the 
Byzantine  citizens  had  their  habitual  residence  in  the  public 
hostels,  and  let  their  houses — not  even  taking  the  trouble  to 

*"  The  Byzantine  dialect  was  in  the  time  of  Philip,  as  we  know 
from  the  decree  in  Demosthenes,  rich  in  Dorisms." — MULLER  on  the 
Doric  Dialect. 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN:  41 

remove  their  wives — to  the  strangers  who  crowded  their  gay 
capital.  And  when  their  general  found  it  necessary  to  de- 
mand their  aid  on  the  ramparts,  he  could  only  secure  their 
attendance  by  ordering  the  taverns  and  cookshops  to  be  re- 
moved to  the  place  of  duty.  Not  yet  so  far  sunk  in  sloth 
and  debauch,  the  Byzantines  were  nevertheless  hosts  emi- 
nently dangerous  to  the  austerer  manners  of  their  Greek 
visitors.  The  people,  the  women,  the  delicious  wine,  the 
balm  of  the  subduing  climate,  served  to  tempt  the  senses 
and  relax  the  mind.  Like  all  the  Dorians,  when  freed  from 
primitive  restraint,  the  higher  class,  that  is,  the  descendants 
of  the  colonists,  were  in  themselves  an  agreeable,  jovial  race. 
They  had  that  strong  bias  to  humor,  to  jest,  to  satire,  which 
in  their  ancestral  Megara  gave  birth  to  the  Grecian  comedy, 
and  which  lurked  even  beneath  the  pithy  aphorisms  and 
rude  merry-makings  of  the  severe   Spartan. 

Such  were  the  people  with  whom  of  late  Pausanias  had 
familiarly  mixed,  and  with  whose  manners  he  contrasted,  far 
too  favorably  for  his  honor  and  his  peace,  the  habits  of  his 
countrymen. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  villas  we  have  described,  the  favorite 
abode  of  the  rich  Diagoras,  and  in  an  apartment  connected 
with  those  more  private  recesses  of  the  house  appropriated 
to  the  females,  that  two  persons  were  seated  by  a  window 
which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  glittering  sea  below. 
One  of  these  was  an  old  man  in  a  long  robe  that  reached  to 
his  feet,  with  a  bald  head,  and  a  beard  in  which  some  dark 
hairs  yet  withstood  the  encroachments  of  the  gray.  In  his 
well-cut  features  and  large  eyes  were  remains  of  the  beauty 
that  characterized  his  race  ;  but  the  mouth  was  full  and  wide, 
the  forehead  low  though  broad,  the  cheeks  swollen,  the  chin 
double,  and  the  whole  form  corpulent  and  unwieldly.  Still 
there  was  a  jolly,  sleek  good-humor  about  the  aspect  of  the 
man  that  prepossessed  you  in  his  favor.  This  personage, 
who  was  no  less  than  Diagoras  himself,  was  reclining  lazily 
upon  a  kind  of  narrow  sofa  cunningly  inlaid  with  ivory,  and 
studying  new  combinations  in  that  scientific  game  which 
Palamedes  is  said  to  have  invented  at  the  siege  of  Troy. 

Bis  companion  was  of  a  very  different  appearance.  She 
was  a  girl  who  to  the  eye  of  a  Northern  stranger  migh*  have 
seemed  about  eighteen,  though  she  was  probably  much  young- 
er, of  a  countenance  so  remarkable  for  intelligence  that  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  her  mind  had  outgrown  her  years. 
Beautiful  she  certainly  was,  yet  scarcely  of  that  beauty  fiom 


4a  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN; 

which  the  Greek  sculptor  would  have  drawn  his  models. 
'J'he  features  were  not  strictly  regular,  and  yet  so  harmo- 
niously did  each  blend  with  each,  that  to  have  amended  one 
would  have  spoiled  the  whole.  There  was  in  the  fulness 
and  depth  of  the  large  but  genial  eye,  with  its  sweeping 
fringe,  and  straight,  slightly  chiselled  brow,  more  of  Asia  than 
of  Greece.  The  lips,  of  the  freshest  red,  were  somewhat  full 
and  pouting,  and  dimples  without  number  lay  scattered  round 
them — lurking-places  for  the  loves.  Her  complexion  was 
clear,  though  dark ;  and  the  purest  and  most  virgin  bloom 
mantled,  now  paler,  now  richer,  through  the  soft  surface. 
At  the  time  we  speak  of  she  was  leaning  against  the  open 
door  with  her  arms  crossed  on  her  bosom,  and  her  face 
turned  toward  the  Byzantine.  Her  robe,  of  a  deep  yellow, 
so  trying  to  the  fair  women  of  the  North,  became  well  the 
glowing  colors  of  her  beauty — the  damask  cheek,  the  purple 
hair.  Like  those  of  the  lonians,  the  sleeves  of  the  robe,  long 
and  loose,  descended  to  her  hands,  which  were  marvellously 
small  and  delicate.  Long  earrings,  which  terminated  in  a 
kind  of  berry,  studded  with  precious  stones,  then  common 
only  with  the  women  of  the  East ;  a  broad  collar,  or  neck- 
lace, of  the  smaragdus,  or  emerald  ;  and  large  clasps,  me- 
dallion-like, where  the  swanlike  throat  joined  the  graceful 
shoulder,  gave  to  her  dress  an  appearance  of  opulence  and 
splendor  that  betokened  how  much  the  ladies  of  Byzantine 
had  borrowed  from  the  fashions  of  the  Oriental  world.  Noth- 
ing could  exceed  the  lightness  of  her  form,  rounded,  it  is 
true,  but  slight  and  girlish  ;  and  the  high  instep,  with  the 
slender  foot  so  well  set  off  by  the  embroidered  sandal,  would 
have  suited  such  dances  as  those  in  which  the  huntress 
nymphs  of  Delos  moved  around  Diana.  The  natural  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  if  countenance  so  mobile  and  change- 
ful had  one  expression  more  predominant  than  another,  ap- 
peared to  be  irresistibly  arch  and  joyous,  as  of  one  full  of 
youth  and  conscious  of  her  beauty  ;  yet,  if  a  cloud  came 
over  the  face,  nothing  could  equal  the  thoughtful  and  deep 
sadness  of  the  dark  abstracted  eyes,  as  if  some  touch  of 
higher  and  more  animated  emotion — such  as  belongs  to 
pride,  or  courage,  or  intellect — vibrated  on  the  heart.  The 
color  rose,  the  form  dilated,  the  lip  quivered,  the  eye  flashed 
light,  and  the  mirthful  expression  heightened  almost  into 
the  sublime.  Yet  lovely  as  Cleonice  was  deemed  at  Byzan- 
tium, lovelier  still  as  she  would  have  appeared  in  modern 
eyes,  she  failed  in  what  the  Greeks  generally,  but  especia  ly 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN:  43 

the  Spartans,  deemed  an  essential  of  beauty — in  height  ot 
stature.  Accustomed  to  look  upon  the  virgin  but  as  the 
future  mother  of  a  race  of  warriors,  the  Spartans  saw  beauty 
only  in  those  proportions  which  promised  a  robust  and 
stately  progeny  ;  and  the  reader  may  remember  the  well- 
known  story  of  the  opprobrious  reproaches,  even,  it  is  said, 
accompanied  with  stripes,  which  the  P^.phors  addressed  to  a 
Spartan  king  for  presuming  to  make  choice  of  a  wife  below 
the  ordinary  stature.  Cleonice  was  small  and  delicate,  rather 
like  the  Peri  of  the  Persian  than  the  sturdy  Grace  of  the 
the  Dorian.  But  her  beauty  was  her  least  charm.  She  had 
all  that  feminine  fascination  of  manner,  wayward,  varying, 
inexpressible,  yet  irresistible,  which  seizes  hold  of  the  im- 
agination as  well  as  the  senses,  and  which  has  so  often  made 
willing  slaves  of  the  proud  rulers  of  the  world.  In  fact 
Cleonice,  the  daughter  of  Diagoras,  had  enjoyed  those  ad 
vantages  of  womanly  education  wholly  unknown  at  that 
time  to  the  free-born  ladies  of  Greece  proper,  but  which 
gave  to  the  women  of  some  of  the  Isles  and  Ionian  cities 
their  celebrity  in  ancient  story.  Her  mother  was  of  Miletus, 
famed  for  the  intellectual  cultivation  of  the  sex  no  less  than 
for  their  beauty — of  Miletus,  the  birthplace  of  Aspasia — of 
Miletus,  from  which  those  remarkable  women  who,  under 
the  name  of  Hetcerae,  exercised  afterwards  so  signal  an  in- 
tiuence  over  the  mind  and  manners  of  Athens,  chiefly  de- 
rived their  origin,  and  who  seem  to  have  inspired  an  affec 
tion,  which  in  depth,  constancy,  and  fervor  approached  tc- 
the  more  chivalrous  passion  of  the  North.  Such  an  educa 
tion  consisted  not  only  in  the  feminine  and  household  arts 
honored  universally  throughout  Greece,  but  in  a  kind  oi 
spontaneous  and  luxuriant  cultivation  of  all  that  captivates 
the  fancy  and  enlivens  the  leisure.  If  there  were  something 
pedantic  in  their  affectation  of  philosophy,  it  was  so  graced 
and  vivified  by  a  brilliancy  of  conversation,  a  charm  of 
manner  carried  almost  to  a  science,  a  womanly  facility  of 
softening  all  that  comes  Avithin  their  circle,  of  suiting  yet  re- 
fi  ling  each  complexity  and  discord  of  character  admitted  to 
their  intercourse,  that  it  had  at  least  nothing  masculine  oi 
harsh.  Wisdom,  taken  lightly  or  easily,  seemed  but  another 
shape  of  poetry.  The  matrons  of  Athens,  who  could  often 
neither  read  nor  write — ignorant,  vain,  tawdry,  and  not 
always  faithful,  if  we  may  trust  to  such  scandal  as  has 
reached  the  modern  time — must  have  seemed  insipid  beside 
these  brilliant  strangers ;  and  while   certainly  wanting  theii 


^^  PAUSANIAS,   THE  START  AN: 

power  to  retain  love,  must  have  had  but  a  doubtful  superi- 
ority in  the  qualifications  that  ensure  esteem.  But  we  are 
not  to  suppose  that  the  Het^eras  (that  mysterious  and  im- 
portant class  peculiar  to  a  certain  state  of  society,  and  whose 
appellation  we  cannot  render  by  any  proper  word  in  modern 
language)  monopolized  all  the  graces  of  their  countrywomen. 
In  the  same  cities  were  many  of  unblemished  virtue  and  re- 
pute who  possessed  equal  cultivation  and  attraction,  but 
uhom  a  more  decorous  life  has  concealed  from  the  equivo 
cal  admiration  of  posterity  ;  though  the  numerous  female 
disciples  of  Pythagoras  throw  some  light  on  their  capacity 
and  intellect.  Among  such  as  these  had  been  the  mother 
of  Cleonice,  not  long  since  dead,  and  her  daughter  in- 
herited and  equalled  her  accomplishments,  while  her  virgin 
youth,  her  inborn  playfulness  of  manner,  her  pure  guileless- 
ness,  which  the  secluded  habits  of  the  unmarried  women  at 
Byzantium  preserved  from  all  contagion,  gave  to  qualities  and 
gifts  so  little  published  abroad  the  effect,  as  it  were,  of  a  happy 
and  wondrous  inspiration  rather  than  of  elaborate  culture. 

Such  was  the  fair  creature  whom  Diagoras,  looking  up 
from  his  pastime,  thus  addressed  : — 

"  And  so,  perverse  one,  thou  canst  not  love  this  great 
hero,  a  proper  person  truly,  and  a  mighty  warrior,  who  will 
eat  you  an  army  of  Persians  at  a  meal.  These  Spartan 
fighting-cocks  want  no  garlic,  I  warrant  you.*  And  yet 
you  can't  love  him,  you  little  rogue." 

"  Why,  my  father,"  said  Cleonice,  with  an  arch  smile 
and  a  slight  blush,  "  even  if  I  did  look  kindly  on  Pausanias, 
would  it  not  be  to  my  own  sorrow  .-'  What  Spartan — above 
all,  what  royal  Spartan — may  marry  with  a  foreigner,  and  a 
Byzantine  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  precisely  talk  of  marriage — a  very  happy  state, 
doubtless,  to  those  who  dislike  too  quiet  a  life,  and  a  very 
honorable  one,  for  war  is  honor  itself  ;  but  I  did  not  speak 
of  that,  Cleonice.  I  would  only  say  that  this  man  of  might 
loves  thee — that  he  is  rich,  rich,  rich.  Pretty  pickings  at 
I'lataea ;  and  we  have  known  losses,  my  child,  sad  losses. 
And  if  you  do  not  love  him,  why,  you  can  but  smile  and 
talk  as  if  you  did,  and  when  the  Spartan  goes  home,  you  will 
lose  a  tormentor  and  gain  a  dowry." 

*  Fighting-cocks  were  fed  with  garh'c,  to  make  them  more  fierce.  The 
learned  reader  will  remember  how  Theorus  advised  Dica;opolis  to  keep 
clear  of  the  'I'hracians  with  garlic  in  their  mouths. — See  the  Acliarnizns 
ef  Aristophanes. 


PAUSANTAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  4j 

"  My  father,  for  shame  !  " 

"  Who  talks  of  shame  ?  You  women  are  always  so  sharp 
at  finding  oracles  in  oak-leaves,  that  one  doesn't  wondei 
Apollo  makes  choice  of  your  sex  for  his  priests.  But  lister 
to  me,  girl,  seriously,"  and  here  Diagoras  with  a  great  effon 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and,  lowering  his  voice,  spoke 
with  evident  earnestness.  "  Pausanias  has  life  and  death, 
and,  what  is  worse,  wealth  or  poverty,  in  his  hands  ;  he  can 
raise  or  ruin  us  with  a  nod  of  his  head,  this  blackcurled 
Jupiter  They  tell  me  that  he  is  fierce,  irascible,  haughty; 
and  what  slighted  lover  is  not  revengeful  ?  For  my  sake, 
Cleonice,  for  your  poor  father's  sake,  show  no  scorn,  no  re- 
pugnance ;  be  gentle,  play  with  him,  draw  not  down  the 
thunder-bolt,  even  if  you  turn  from  the  golden  shower." 

While  Diagoras  spoke,  the  girl  listened  with  downcast 
eyes  and  flushed  cheeks,  and  there  was  an  expression  of 
such  shame  and  sadness  on  her  countenance,  that  even  the 
Byzantine,  pausing  and  looking  up  for  a  reply,  was  startled 
by  it. 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  hesitatingly  and  absorbed,  "  do  not 
misconceive  me.  Cursed  be  the  hour  when  the  Spartan  saw 
thee ;  but  since  the  Fates  have  so  served  us,  let  us  not  make 
bad  worse.  I  love  thee,  Cleonice,  more  dearly  than  the 
apple  of  my  eye  ;  it  is  for  thee  I  fear,  for  thee  I  speak.  Alas  ! 
it  is  not  dishonor  I  recommend ;  it  is  force  I  would  shun." 

"  Force  I "  said  the  girl,  drawing  up  her  form  with  sudden 
animation.  "  Fear  not  that.  It  is  not  Pausanias  I  dread  ;  it 
is—" 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  No  matter  ;  talk  of  this  no  more.    Shall  I  sing  to  thee  ?  " 

"  But  Pausanias  will  visit  us  this  very  night." 

"  I  know  it.  Hark  !  "  and,  with  her  finger  to  her  lip,  her 
ear  bent  downward,  her  cheek  varying  from  pale  to  red,  from 
red  to  pale,  the  maiden  stole  beyond  the  window  to  a  kind  of 
platform  or  terrace  that  overhung  the  sea.  There,  the  faint 
breeze  stirring  her  long  hair,  and  the  moonlight  full  upon  her 
face,  she  stood,  as  stood  that  immortal  priestess  who  looked 
along  the  starry  Hellespont  for  the  young  Leander  ;  and  her 
ear  had  not  deceived  her.  The  oars  were  dashing  in  the  waves 
below,  and  dark  and  rapid  the  boat  bounded  on  towards  the 
rocky  shore.  She  gazed  long  and  steadfastly  on  the  dim  and 
shadowy  forms  which  that  slender  raft  contained,  and  her  eye 
detected  among  the  three  the  loftier  form  of  her  haughty  wooer. 
Presently  the  thick  foliage  that  clothed  the  descent  shut  the 


-5  PA  USA  NIA  S,    THE  SPA  R  TA IV. 

boat,  Hearing  the  strand,  from  her  view ;  but  she  now  heard 
below,  mellowed  and  softened  in  the  still  and  fragrant  air,  the 
sound  of  the  cithara  and  the  melodious  song  of  the  Mothon, 
thus  imperfectly  rendered  from  the  language  of  immortal 
melody  : — 

SONG. 

Carry  a  sword  in  tlie  myrtle  bough, 
Ye  who  would  honor  the  tyrant-slayei 
I,  in  the  leaves  of  the  myrtle  bough, 
Carry  a  tyrant  to  slay  myself. 

I  pluck'd  the  branch  with  a  hasty  hana, 
But  love  was  lurking  amidst  the  leaves  ; 
His  bow  is  bent  and  his  shaft  is  poised, 
And  I  must  perish  or  pass  the  bough. 

Maiden,  I  come  with  a  gift  to  thee  ; 
Maiden,  I  come  with  a  myrtle  wreath  ; 
Over  thy  forehead,  or  round  thy  breast, 
Bind,  I  implore  thee,  my  myrtle  wreath,  * 

From  hand  to  hand  by  the  banquet  lights 
On  with  the  myrtle  bough  passes  song  ; 
From  hand  to  hand  by  the  silent  stars 
What  with  the  myrtle'  wreath  passes?     Love. 

I  bear  the  god  in  a  myrtle  wreath  , 
Under  the  stars  let  him  pass  to  thee  : 
Empty  his  quiver  and  bind  his  wings, 
Then  pass  the  myrtle  wreath  back  to  me. 

Cleonice  listened  breathlessly  to  the  words,  and  sighed 
heavily  as  they  ceased.  Then,  as  the  foliage  rustled  below, 
she  turned  quickly  into  the  chamber  and  seated  herself  at  a 
little  distance  from  Diagoras ;  to  all  appearance  calm,  in- 
different, and  composed.  Was  it  nature,  or  the  arts  of  Mi- 
letus, that  taught  the  young  beauty  the  hereditary  artifices  of 
the  sex  ? 

"  So  it  is  he,  then  ?  "  said  Diagoras,  with  a  fidgety  and 
nervous  trepidation.  "  Well,  he  chooses  strange  hours  to  visit 
us.  But  he  is  right ;  his  visits  cannot  be  too  private.  Cleonice, 
you  look  provokingly  at  your  ease." 

Cleonice  made  no  reply,  but  shifted  her  position  so  that 
the  light  from  the  lamp  did  not  fall  upon  her  face,  while  her 

*  Garlands  were  twined  round  the  neck,  or  placed  upon  the  bosom 
(  ).    See  the  quotations  from  Alcaeus,  Sappho,  and  Anacreon 

in  Athemeus,  book  xiii.,  c.  17. 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  47 

father,  hurnnng  to  the  threshold  of  his  hall  to  receive  his 
illustrious  visitor,  soon  re-appeared  with  the  Spartan  Regent, 
talking  as  he  entered  with  the  volubility  of  one  of  the  parasites 
of  Alciphron  and  Athenreus. 

"  This  is  most  kind,  most  affable.  Cleonice  said  you  would 
come,  Pausanias,  though  I  began  to  distrust  you.  The  hours 
seem  long  to  those  who  "expect  pleasure." 

"  And,  Cleonice,  you  knew  that  I  should  come,"  said  Pair 
sanias,  appioaching  the  fair  Byzantine;  but  his  step  was 
timid,  and  there  was  no  pride  now  in  his  anxious  eye  and 
bended  brow. 

"  You  said  you  would  come  to-night,"  said  Cleonice, 
calmly,  "  and  Spartans,  according  to  proverbs,  speak  the 
truth." 

"  When  it  is  to  their  advantage,  yes,"  *  said  Pausanias, 
with  a  slight  curl  of  his  lips ;  and,  as  if  the  girl's  compliment 
to  his  countrjnnen  had  roused  his  spleen  and  changed  his 
thoughts,  he  seated  himself  moodily  by  Cleonice,  and  re- 
mained silent. 

The  Byzantine  stole  an  arch  glance  at  the  Spartan,  as  he 
thus  sat,  from  the  corner  of  her  eyes,  and  said  after  a  pause  : — 

"  You  Spartans  ought  to  speak  the  truth  more  than  other 
people,  for  you  say  much  less.  We  too  have  our  proverb  at 
Byzantium,  and  one  which  implies  that  it  requires  some  wit 
to  tell  fibs." 

"  Child,  child  !  "  exclaimed  Diagoras,  holding  up  his  hand 
reprovingly,  and  directing  a  terrified  look  at  the  Spartan.  To 
his  great  relief,  Pausanias  smiled,  and  replied, — 

"  Fair  maiden,  we  Dorians  are  said  to  have  a  wit  peculiar 
to  ourselves,  but  I  confess  that  it  is  of  a  nature  that  is  but 
little  attractive  to  your  sex.  The  Athenians  are  blander 
wooers." 

"  Do  you  ever  attempt  to  woo  in  Lacedaemon  then  ?  Ah, 
but  the  maidens  there,  perhaps,  are  not  difficult  to  please." 

"  The  girl  puts  me  in  a  cold  sweat ! "  muttered  Diagoras, 
wiping  his  brow.  And  this  time  Pausanias  did  not  smile  ;  he 
colored,  and  answered,  gravely  : — 

"  And  is  it,  then,  a  vain  hope  for  a  Spartan  to  please  a 
Byzantine .''  " 

*  So  said  Thuc3'dides  of  the  Spartans,  many,  years  afterwards. 
"  They  give  evidence  of  honor  among  themselves  ;  but  with  respect  to 
others,  they  consider  honorable  whatever  pleases  them,  and  just  what 
ever  is  to  their  advantage.'' — See   Thiicyd,,  lib.  v. 


48  PA  us  A  NT  AS,  THE  SPARTA  AT. 

"You   puzzle   me.      That  is  an  enigma;  put    it  to  the 
oracle." 

The  Spartan  raised  his  eyes  toward  Cleonice,  and,  as  she 
saw  the  inquiring,  perplexed  look  that  his  features  assumed, 
the  ruby  lips  broke  into  so  wicked  a  smile,  and  the  eyes  that 
met  his  had  so  much  laughter  in  them,  that  Pausanias  was 
fairly  bewitched  out  of  his  own  displeasure. 

"  Ah  cruel  one  !  "  said  he,  lowering  his  voice,  "  I  am  not 
so  proud  of  being  Spartan  that  the  thought  should  console  me 
for  thy  mocker}'.  " 

"  Not  proud  of  being  Spartan  !  say  not  so,  "  exclaimed 
Cleonice.  "  Who  ever  speaks  of  Greece  and  places  not  Sparta 
at  her  head  ?  Who  ever  speaks  of  freedom  and  forgets 
ThermopylfE  ?  Who  ever  burns  for  glory,  and  sighs  not  for 
the  fame  of  Pausanias  and  Plataea  1  Ah,  yes,  even  in  jest 
say  not  that  you  are  not  proud  to  be  a  Spartan  ! " 

"  The  little  fool  ! "  cried  Diagoras,  chuckling,  and  might- 
ily delighted  ;  "  she  is  quite  mad  about  Sparta— no  wonder  !" 

Pausanias,  surprised  and  moved  by  the  burst  of  the  fair 
Byzantine,  gazed  at  her  admiringly,  and  thought  within  him- 
self how  harshly  the  same  sentiment  would  have  sounded  on 
the  lips  of  a  tall  Spartan  virgin  ;  but  when  Cleonice  heard  the 
approving  interlocution  of  Diagoras,  her  enthusiasm  vanished 
from  her  face,  and,  putting  out  her  lips  poutingly,  she  said, 
"  Nay,  father,  I  repeat  only  what  others  say  of  the  Spartans. 
I'hey  are  admirable  heroes  ;  but  from  the  little  I  have  seen, 
they  are —  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Pausanias,  eagerly,  and  leaning  nearer  to 
Cleonice. 

"  Proud,  dictatorial,  and  stern  as  companions. " 

Pausanias  once  more  drew  back. 

_"  There  it  is  again  ! "  groaned  Diagoras.  "  I  feel  exactly 
as  if  I  were  playing  at  odd  and  even  with  a  lion  ;  she  does 
:t  to  vex  me.     I  shall  retaliate,  and  creep  away." 

"  Cleonice, "  said  Pausanias,  with  suppressed  emotiori 
"  you  trifle  with  me,  and  I  bear  it." 

"  You  are  condescending.  How  would  you  aveng-e  your- 
self ?  " 

"  How !  " 

"  You  would  not  beat  me  ;  you  would  not  make  me  bea» 
an  anchor  on  the  shoulders,  as  they  say  you  do  your  soldiers. 
Shame  on  you  !  You  bear  with  me !  True,  what  help  for 
you  ?  " 

"  Maiden,  "  said  the  Spartan,  rising  in  great  anger,  "  foi 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  4g 

him  who  loves  and  is  slighted  there  is  a  revenge  you  have 
not  mentioned.  " 

"  For  him  who  loves !  No,  Spartan  ;  for  him  who  shuns 
disgrace  and  courts  the  fame  dear  to  gods  and  men,  there  is 
no  revenge  upon  women.     Blush  for  your  threat.  " 

"  You  madden,  but  subdue  me,  "  said  the  Spartan,  as  he 
turned  away.  He  then  first  perceived  that  Diagoras  had 
gone — that  they  were  alone.  His  contempt  for  the  father 
awoke  suspicion  of  the  daughter.  Again  he  approached,  and 
said  :  "  Cleonice,  I  know  but  little  of  the  fables  of  poets,  yet 
is  it  an  old  maxim  often  sung  and  ever  belied,  that  love 
scorned  becomes  hate.  There  are  moments  when  I  think  I 
hate  thee.  " 

"  And  yet  thou  hast  never  loved  me,  "  said  Cleonice  ;  and 
there  was  something  soft  and  tender  in  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
and  the  rough  Spartan  was  again  subdued. 

"  I  never  loved  thee  !  What,  then,  is  love  ?  Is  not  thine 
image  always  before  me  ? — amidst  schemes,  amidst  perils  of 
which  thy  very  dreams  have  never  presented  equal  perplex- 
ity or  phantoms  so  uncertain,  I  am  occupied  but  with  thee. 
Surely,  as  upon  the  hyacinth  is  written  the  exclamation  of 
woe,  so  on  this  heart  is  graven  thy  name.  Cleonice,  you  who 
know  not  what  it  is  to  love,  you  affect  to  deny  or  to  question 
mine.  " 

"  And  what,"  said  Cleonice,  blushing  deepl}',  and  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  "what  result  can  come  from  such  a  love  ? 
You  may  not  wed  with  the  stranger.  And  yet,  Pausanias, 
yet  you  know  that  all  other  love  dishonors  the  virgin  even 
of  Byzantium.  You  are  silent ;  you  turn  away.  Ah,  do 
not  let  them  wrong  you.  My  father  fears  your  power.  If 
you  love  me,  you  are  powerless ;  your  power  has  passed  to 
me.  Is  it  not  so  ?  I,  a  weak  girl,  can  rule,  command,  irri- 
tate, mock  you,  if  I  will.  You  may  fly  me,  but  not  con- 
trol." 

"  Do  not  tempt  me  too  far,  Cleonice,"  said  the  Spartan, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Nay,  I  will  be  merciful  henceforth  ;  and  you,  Pausanias, 
tome  here  no  more.  Awake  to  the  true  sense  of  what  is  due 
to  your  divine  ancestry — your  great  name.  Is  it  not  told  of 
you  that,  after  the  fall  of  Mardonius,  you  nobly  dismissed  to 
her  country,  unscathed  and  honored,  the  captive  Coan 
lady?*     Will  you  reverse  at  Byzantium  the  fame  acquijca 

*  Ilerod.,  ix. 


JO  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 

at  Plataea  ?     Pausanias,  spare  us  ;  appeal  not  to  my  father' 
fear,  still  less  to  his  love  of  gold." 

"  I  cannot,  I  cannot  fly  thee,"  said  the  Spartan,  with 
great  emotion.  "  You  know  not  how  stormy,  how  inexora- 
ble are  the  passions  which  burst  forth  after  a  whole  youth  of 
restraint.  When  nature  breaks  the  barriers,  she  rushes 
headlong  on  her  course.  I  am  no  gentle  wooer ;  where  in 
Sparta  should  1  learn  the  art  ?  But,  if  I  love  thee  not  as 
these  mincing  lonians,  who  come  with  offerings  of  flowers 
and  song,  I  do  love  thee  with  all  that  fervor  of  which  the  old 
Dorian  legends  tell.  I  could  brave,  like  the  Thracian,  the  ■ 
dark  gates  of  Hades,  were  thy  embrace  my  reward.  Com- 
mand me  as  thou  wilt — make  me  thy  slave  in  all  things, 
even  as  Hercules  was  to  Omphale  ;  but  tell  me  only  that  I 
may  win  thy  love  at  last.  Fear  not.  Why  fear  me  ?  In  my 
wildest  moments  a  look  from  thee  can  control  me.  I  ask 
but  love  for  love.  Without  thy  love  thy  beauty  were  value- 
less.    Bid  me  not  despair." 

Cleonice  turned  pale,  and  the  large  tears  that  had  gath- 
ered in  her  eyes  fell  slowly  down  her  cheeks ;  but  she  did 
not  withdraw  her  hand  from  his  clasp,  or  avert  her  counte- 
nance from  his  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  fear  thee,"  said  she,  in  a  very  low  voice.  "  I 
told  my  father  so  ;  but — but — "  (and  here  she  drew  back 
her  hand  and  averted  her  face),  "  I  fear  myself." 

"Ah,  no,  no,"  cried  the  delighted  Spartan,  detaining  her, 
"  do  not  fear  to  trust  to  thine  own  heart.  Talk  not  of  dis- 
honor. There  are  "  (and  here  the  Spartan  drew  himself  up, 
and  his  voice  took  a  deeper  swell) — "  there  are  those  on 
earth  who  hold  themselves  above  the  miserable  judgments 
of  the  vulgar  herd — who  can  emancipate  themselves  from 
those  galling  chains  of  custom  and  of  country  which  helotize 
affection,  genius,  Nature  herself.  What  is  dishonor  here 
may  be  glory  elsewhere  ;  and  this  hand,  outstretched  toward 
a  mightier  sceptre  than  Greek  ever  wielded  yet,  may  dis- 
pense, not  shame  and  sorrow,  but  glory  and  golden  affluence 
to  those  I  love." 

"You  amaze  me,  Pausanias.  Nozu  I  fear  you.  What 
mean  these  mysterious  boasts  ?  Have  you  the  dark  ambi- 
tion to  restore  in  your  own  person  that  race  of  tyrants  whom 
your  country  hath  helped  to  sweep  away  ?  Can  you  hope  to 
change  the  laws  of  Sparta,  and  reign  there,  your  will  the 
state  ?  " 

"  Cleonice,  we  touch  upon  matters  that  should  not  dis 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN, 


s« 


turb  the  ears  of  women.  Forgive  me  if  J  have  been  roused 
from  myself." 

"  At  Miletus — so  ha^-e  I  heard  my  mother  say — there 
,  were  women  worthy  to  be  the  confidants  of  men." 

"  But  they  were  women  who  loved.  Cleonice,  I  should 
rejoice  in  an  hour  when  I  might  pour  every  thought  into  thy 
bosom." 

At  this  moment  there  was  heard  on  the  strand  below  a 
single  note  from  the  Mothon's  instrument,  low,  but  pro- 
longed ;  it  ceased,  and  was  again  renewed.  The  royal  con- 
spirator started  and  breathed  hard. 

"  It  is  the  signal,"  he  muttered  ;  "  they  wait  me.  Cleo- 
nice," he  said  aloud,  and  with  much  earnestness  in  his  voice, 
"  I  had  hoped,  ere  we  parted,  to  have  drawn  from  your  lips 
those  assurances  which  would  give  me  energy  for  the  pres- 
ent and  hope  in  the  future.  Ah,  turn  not  from  me  because 
my  speech  is  plain  and  my  manner  rugged.  What,  Cleonice, 
what  if  I  could  defy  the  laws  of  Sparta;  what  if,  instead  of 
that  gloomy  soil,  I  could  bear  thee  to  lands  where  heaven 
and  man  alike  smile  benignant  on  love  .''  Might  I  not  hope 
then  ?  " 

"  Do  nothing  to  sully  your  fame." 

"  Is  it,  then,  dear  to  thee  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  part  of  thee,"  said  Cleonice,  falteringly  ;  and  as 
if  she  had  said  too  much,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

Emboldened  by  this  emotion,  the  Spartan  gave  way  to 
his  passion  and  his  joy.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms — his 
first  embrace — and  kissed,  with  wild  fervor,  the  crimsoned 
forehead,  the  veiling  hands.  Then,  as  he  tore  himself  away, 
he  cast  his  right  arm  aloft. 

"O  Hercules  !  "  he  cried,  in  solemn  and  kindling  adjura- 
tion, "  my  ancestor  and  my  divine  guardian,  it  w-as  not  by 
confining  thy  labors  to  one  spot  of  earth  that  thou  wert 
borne  from  thy  throne  of  fire  to  the  seats  of  the  gods. 
Like  thee  I  will  spread  the  influence  of  my  arms  to  nations 
whose  glory  shall  be  my  name ;  and  as  thy  sons,  my  fathers, 
expelled  from  Sparta,  returned  thither  with  sword  and  spear 
to  defeat  usurpers  and  to  found  the  long  dynasty  of  the 
Heracleids,  even  so  may  it  be  mine  to  visit  that  dread  abode 
of  torturers  and  spies,  and  to  build  up  in  the  halls  of  the 
Atridae  a  power  worthier  of  the  lineage  of  the  demi-god. 
Again  the  signal !     Fear  not,  Cleonice,  I  will  not  tarnish  my 


^2  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN: 

fame,  but  I  will  exchange  the  envy  of  abhorring  rivals  fot 
tlie  obedience  of  a  world.     One  kiss  more  !     Farewell  ! " 

Ere  Cleonice  recovered  herself,  Pausanias  was  gone,  his 
wild  and  uncomprehended  boasts  still  ringing  in  her  ear.  She. 
sighed  heavily,  and  turned  towards  the  opening  that  admitted 
to  the  terraces.  There  she  stood  watching  for  the  parting 
of  her  lover's  boat.  It  was  midnight ;  the  air,  laden  with  ^he 
perfumes  of  a  thousand  fragrant  shrubs  and  flowers  that  bloom 
along  that  coast  in  the  rich  luxuriance  of  nature,  was  hushed 
and  breathless.  In  its  stillness  every  sound  was  audible,  the 
rustling  of  a  leaf,  the  ripple  of  a  wave.  She  heard  the  mur- 
mur of  whispered  voices  below,  and  in  a  few  moments  she 
recognized,  emerging  from  the  foliage,  the  form  of  Pausanias  ; 
but  he  was  not  alone.  Who  were  his  companions  ?  In  the  deep 
lustre  of  that  shining  and  splendid  atmosphere  she  could  see 
sufficient  of  the  outline  of  their  figures  to  observe  that  they  were 
not  dressed  in  the  Grecian  garb  ;  their  long  robes  betrayed 
(he  Persian. 

They  seemed  conversing  familiarly  and  eagerly  as  they 
passed  along  the  smooth  sands,  till  a  curve  in  the  wooded 
shore  hid  them  from  her  view. 

"  Why  do  I  love  him  so,"  said  the  girl,  mechanically,  "  and 
yet  wrestle  against  that  love  ?  Dark  forebodings  tell  me 
that  Aphrodite  smiles  not  on  our  vows.  Woe  is  me  !  What 
will  be  the  end  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

On  quitting  Cleonice,  Pausanias  hastily  traversed  the  long 
ftassage  that  communicated  with  a  square  peristyle  or  colon- 
nade, which  again  led,  on  the  one  hand,  to  the  more  public 
parts  of  the  villa,  and,  on  the  other,  though  a  small  door  left 
ajar,  conducted  by  a  back  entrance,  to  the  garden  and  the 
sea-shore.  Pursuing  the  latter  path,  the  Spartan  bounded 
down  the  descent  and  came  upon  an  opening  in  the  foliage, 
n  which  Lysander  was  seated  beside  the  boat  that  had  been 
drawn  partially  on  the  strand. 

"  Alone  ?     Where  is  Alciian  ?  " 


PA  us  AMI  AS,   THE  SPARTAN:  53 

•*  Yonder :  you  heard  his  signal  ?  " 

"  I  heard  it." 

*'  Pausanias,  they  who  seek  you  are  Persians.  Beware  !  " 

"  Of  what  ?  murder  .''  I  am  warned." 

"  Murder  to  your  good  nanie.  There  are  no  arms  against 
appearances." 

"  But  I  may  trust  thee  ?"  said  the  Regent,  quickly  ;  "  and 
of  Alcman's  faith  I  am  convinced." 

"  Why  trust  to  any  man  what  it  were  wisdom  to  reveal  to 
the  whole  Grecian  Council  ?  I'o  parley  secretly  with  the  foe 
is  half  a  treason  to  our  friends." 

"  Lysander,"  replied  Pausanias,  coldly,  "  you  have  much 
to  learn  before  you  can  be  wholly  Spartan.  Tarry  here  yet 
awhile." 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  this  boy  ?  "  muttered  the  conspir- 
ator as  he  strode  on.  "  I  know  that  he  will  not  betray  me, 
yet  can  I  hope  for  his  aid .''  I  love  him  so  well  that  I  would 
fain  he  shared  my  fortunes.  Perhaps  by  little  and  little  I  may 
lead  him  on.  Meanwhile,  his  race  and  his  name  are  so  well 
accredited  in  Sparta,  his  father  himself  an  Ephor,  that  his 
presence  allays  suspicion.     Well,  here  are  ray  Persians." 

A  little  apart  from  the  Molhon,  who,  resting  his  cithara 
on  a  fragment  of  rock,  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  reflection, 
stood  the  men  of  the  East.  There  were  two  of  them  ;  one 
of  tall  stature  and  noble  presence,  in  the  prime  of  life  ;  the 
other  more  advanced  in  years,  of  a  coarser  make,  a  yet  dark- 
er complexion,  and  of  a  sullen  and  gloomy  countenance. 
They  were  not  dressed  alike ;  the  taller,  a  Persian  of  pure 
blood,  wore  a  short  tunic  that  reached  only  to  the  knees  ;  and 
the  dress  fitted  to  his  shape  without  a  single  fold.  On  his 
round  cap  or  bonnet  glittered  a  string  of  those  rare  pearls, 
especially  and  immemorial ly  prized  in  the  East,  which  form- 
ed the  favorite  and  characteristic  ornament  of  the  illustrious 
tribe  of  the  Pasargadae.  The  other,  who  was  a  Mede,  differ- 
ed scarcely  in  his  dress  from  Pausanias  himself,  except  that 
he  was  profusely  covered  with  ornaments ;  his  arms  were 
decorated  with  bracelets,  he  wore  earrings,  and  a  broad  collar 
of  unpolished  stones  in  a  kind  of  filigree  was  suspended  from 
his  throat.  Behind  the  Orientals  stood  Gongylus,  leaning 
both  hands  on  his  staff,  and  watching  the  approach  of 
Pausanias  with  the  same  icy  smile  and  glittering  eye  with 
which  he  listened  to  the  passionate  invectives  or  flattered  the 
dark  ambition  of  the  Spartan.  The  Orientals  saluted  Pausanias 
with  a  lofty  gravity,  and  Gongylus,  drawing  near,  said :  "  Son 


54 


PAUSANIAS    THE  SPARTAN. 


of  Cleombrotus,  the  illustrious  Ariamanes,  kinsman  to  Xer« 
xes,and  of  the  house  of  the  Ach^emenids,  is  so  far  versed  in  the 
Grecian  tongue  that  I  need  not  proffer  my  offices  as  interpreter. 
In  Datis  the  Mede,  brother  to  the  most  renowned  of  the 
Magi,  you  behold  a  warrior  worthy  to  assist  the  arms  even  of 
Pausanias." 

"  I  greet  ye  in  our  Spartan  phrase,  "  The  beautiful  to  the 
good,'  "  said  Pausanias,  regarding  the  Barbarians  with  an 
earnest  gaze.  "  And  I  requested  Gongylus  to  lead  ye  hither 
in  order  that  I  might  confer  with  ye  more  at  ease,  than  in  the 
confinement  to  which  I  regret  ye  are  still  sentenced.  Not  in 
prisons  should  be  held  the  conversations  of  brave  men." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ariamanes  (the  statelier  of  the  Barbari- 
ans), in  the  Greek  tongue,  which  he  spoke  intelligibly  indeed, 
but  with  slowness  and  hesitation,  "  I  know  that  I  am  with 
that  hero  who  refused  to  dishonor  the  corpse  of  Mardonius  ; 
and  even  though  a  captive,  I  converse  without  shame  with  my 
victor." 

"  Rested  it  with  me  alone,  your  captivity  should  cease," 
replied  Pausanias.  "  War,  that  has  made  me  acquainted 
with  the  valor  of  the  Persians,  has  also  enlightened  me  as  to 
their  character.  Your  king  has  ever  been  humane  to  such 
of  the  Greeks  as  have  sought  a  refuge  near  his  throne.  I 
would  but  imitate  his  clemency." 

"  Had  the  great  Darius  less  esteemed  the  Greeks,  he 
would  never  have  invaded  Greece.  From  the  wanderers 
whom  misfortune  drove  to  his  realms,  he  learned  to  wonder 
at  the  arts,  the  genius,  the  energies  of  the  people  of  Hellas. 
He  desired  less  to  win  their  territories  than  to  gain  such  sub- 
jects. Too  vast,  alas !  was  the  work  he  bequeathed  to 
Xerxes." 

He  should  not  have  trusted  to  force  alone,"  returned  Pau- 
sanias. "  Greece  may  be  won,  but  by  the  arts  of  her  son,  not 
by  the  arms  of  the  stranger.  A  Greek  only  can  subdue 
Greece.  By  such  profound  knowledge  of  the  factions,  the  in- 
terests, the  envies,  and  the  jealousies  of  each  state  as  a  Greek 
alone  can  possess,  the  mistaken  chain  that  binds  them  might 
be  easily  severed  ;  some  bought,  some  intimidated,  and  the 
few  that  hold  out  subdued  amidst  the  apathy  of  the  rest." 

"  You  speak  wisely,  right  hand  of  Hellas,"  answered  the 
Persian,  who  had  listened  to  these  remarks  with  deep  atten- 
tion. "  Yet  had  we  in  our  armies  your  countryman,  the  brave 
Demaratus." 

"  But,  if  I  have  heard  rightly,  ye   too  often  disdained  his 


FA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  55 

counsel.  Had  he  been  listened  to,  there  had  been  neither  a 
Salamis  nor  a  Plataea.*  Yet  Demaratus  himself  had  been 
too  long  a  stranger  to  Greece,  and  he  knew  little  of  any  state 
save  that  of  Sparta.     Lives  he  still  ?  " 

"  Surely  yes,  in  honor  and  renown  ;  little  less  than  the 
son  of  Darius  himself." 

"  And  what  reward  would  Xerxes  bestow  on  one  of  greater 
'nfluence  than  Demaratus  ;  on  one  who  has  hitherto  conquered 
every  foe,  and  now  beholds  before  him  the  conquest  of  Greece 
herself .?  " 

"If  such  a  man  were  found,"  answered  the  Persian,  "let 
his  thoughts  run  loose,  let  his  imagination  rove,  let  him  seek 
only  how  to  find  a  fitting  estimate  of  the  gratitude  of  the 
king  and  the  vastness  of  the  service." 

Pausanias  shaded  his  brow  wfth  his  hand,  and  mused  a 
few  moments  ;  then  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  Persian's  watchful 
but  composed  countenance,  he  said  with  a  slight  smile  : — 

"  Hard  is  it,  O  Persian,  when  the  choice  is  actually  before 
him,  for  a  man  to  renounce  his  country.  There  have  been 
hours  within  this  very  day  when  my  desires  swept  afar  from 
Spart  i,  from  all  Hellas,  and  rested  on  the  tranquil  pomp  of 
Oriental  satrapies.  But  now,  rude  and  stern  parent  though 
Sparta  be  to  me,  I  feel  still  that  I  am  her  son  ;  and,  while  we 
speak,  a  throne  in  stormy  Hellas  seems  the  fitting  object  of 
a  Greek's  ambition.  In  a  word,  then,  I  would  rise,  and  yet 
raise  my  country.  I  would  have  at  my  will  a  force  that  may 
suffice  to  overthrow  in  Sparta  its  grim  and  unnatural  laws,  to 
found  amidst  its  rocks  that  single  throne  which  the  son  of  a 
demi-god  should  ascend.  From  that  throne  I  would  spread 
my  empire  over  the  whole  of  Greece,  Corinth  and  Athens 
being  my  tributaries.  So  that,  though  men  now,  and  poster- 
ity herefifter,  may  say,  '  Pausanias  overthrew  the  Spartan 
governpient,'  they  shall  add,  '  but  Pausanius  annexed  to  the 
Spartan  sceptre  the  realm  of  Greece.  Pausanius  was  a  tyrant, 


t> 


*  After  the  action  at  Thermopylae,  Demaratus  advised  Xerxes  to  send 
tliree  hundred  vessels  to  the  Laconian  coast,  and  seize  the  island  of  Cyth- 
era,  v/hich  commanded  Sparta.  "The  jjrofound  experience  of  Demara- 
tus in  the  selfish  and  exclusive  policy  of  his  countrymen  made  him  argue 
that  if  this  were  done  the  fear  of  Sparta  for  herself  would  prevent  her 
joining  the  forces  of  the  rest  of  Greece,  and  leave  the  latter  a  more  easy 
prey  to  the  invader." — Athens:  its  Rise  and  Fall.  This  advice  was  over- 
ruled by  Achasmenes.  So  again,  had  the  advice  of  Artemisia,  the  Cariaii 
princess,  been  taken — to  delay  the  naval  engagement  of  Salamis,  and 
rather  to  sail  to  the  Peloponnesus — the  Greeks,  failing  of  provisions  and 
divided  among  themselves,  would  probably  have  dispersed. 


56  PAUSAiVIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

but  not  a  traitor.'  How,  O  Persian,  can  these  designs  ao 
cord  with  the  policy  of  the  Persian  king  ?  " 

"  Not  without  the  authority  of  my  master  can  I  answer 
thee."  replied  Ariamanes,  "  so  that  my  answer  may  be  as 
the  king's  signet  to  his  decree.  But  so  much  at  least  I  say  • 
that  it  is  not  the  custom  of  the  Persians  to  interfere  with  the 
institutions  of  those  states  with  which  they  are  connected. 
Thou  desirest  to  make  a  monarchy  of  Greece,  with  Sparta  for 
its  head.  Be  it  so  ;  the  king  my  master  will  aid  thee  so  to 
scheme  and  so  to  reign,  provided  thou  dost  but  concede  to 
him  a  vase  of  the  water  from  thy  fountains,  a  fragment  of 
earth  from  thy  gardens." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Pausanias,  thoughtfully,  but  with 
a  slight  color  on  his  brow,  "  if  I  hold  my'dominions  tribu- 
tary to  the  king  t  " 

"  The  dominions  that  by  the  king's  aid  thou  wilt  have 
conquered.     Is  that  a  hard  law  .?  " 

"  To  a  Greek  and  a  Spartan  the  very  mimicry  of  allegiance 
to  the  foreigner  is  hard." 

The  Persian  smiled.     "  Yet,  if  I  understand  thee   aright, 

0  Chief,  even  kings  in  Sparta  are  but  subjects  to  their  peo- 
ple. Slave  to  a  crowd  at  home,  or  tributary  to  a  throne 
abroad ;  slave  every  hour,  or  tributary  for  earth  and  water 
once  a  year,  which  is  the  freer  lot  ?  " 

"  Thou  canst  not  understand  our  Grecian  notions,"  replied 
Pausanias,   "  nor  have  I  leisure  to  explain  them.  But  though 

1  may  subdue  Sparta  to  myself  as  to  its  native  sovereign,  I 
will  not,  even  by  a  type,  subdue  the  land  of  the  Heracleid  to 
the  Barbarian." 

Ariamanes  looked  grave  ;  the  difficulty  raised  was  serious. 
And  here  the  craft  of  Gongiius  interposed. 

"This  may  be  adjusted,  Ariamanes,  as  befits  both  parties. 
Let  Pausanias  rule  in  Sparta  as  he  lists,  and  Sparta  stand 
free  of  tribute.  But  for  all  other  states  and  cities  that  Pau- 
sanias, aided  by  the  great  king,  shall  conquer,  let  the  vase 
be  filled,  and  the  earth  be  (Grecian.  Let  him  but  render 
tribute  for  those  lands  which  the  Persians  submit  to  his  scep- 
tre. So  shall  the  pride  of  the  Spartan  be  appeased,  and  tlie 
claims  of  the  king  be  satisfied." 

"  Shall  it  be  so.?  "  said  Pausanias. 

"  Instruct  me  so  to  propose  to  my  master,  and  I  will  do 
my  best  to  content  him  with  the  exception  to  the  wonted 
rights  of  the  Persian  diadem.  And  then,"  continued  Aria- 
manes, "then,  Pausanias,  Conqueror  of    Mardonius,    Cap- 


FAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  57 

tain  at  Platcea,  thou  art  indeed  a  man  with  whom  the 
lord  of  Asia  may  treat  as  an  equal.  Greeks  before  thee 
have  offered  to  render  Greece  to  the  king  my  master ; 
but  they  were  exiles  and  fugitives,  they  had  nothing  to  risk  or 
lose;  thou  hast  fame,  and  command,  and  power,  and  riches, 
and  all—" 

"  But  for  a  throne,"  interrupted  Gongylus. 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  may  be  my  motives,"  returned 
the  Spartan,  gloomily,  "  and  were  I  to  tell  them,  you  might 
not  comprehend.  But  so  much  by  way  of  explanation.  You 
too  have  held  command  ?  " 

*'  I  have." 

"  If  you  knew  that,  when  power  became  to  you  so  sweet 
that  it  was  as  necessar)^  to  life  itself  as  food  and  drink,  it 
would  then  be  snatched  from  you  for  ever,  and  you  would 
serv^e  as  a  soldier  in  the  very  ranks  you  had  commanded  as 
a  leader ;  if  you  knew  that,  no  matter  what  your  services, 
your  superiority,  your  desires,  this  shameful  fall  was  inex- 
orably doomed,  might  you  not  see  humiliation  in  power  itself, 
obscurity  in  renown,  gloom  in  the  present,  despair  in  the 
future  ?  And  would  it  not  seem  to  you  nobler  even  to  de- 
sert the  camp  than  to  sink  into  a  subaltern  ?  " 

"  Such  a  prospect  has  in  our  country  made  out  of  good 
subjects  fierce  rebels,"  observed  the  Persian. 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  doubt  it  not,"  said  Pausanias,  laughing  bit- 
terly. "  Well,  then,  such  will  be  my  lot,  if  I  pluck  not  out 
a  fairer  one  from  the  Fatal  Urn.  As  Regent  of  Sparta, 
while  my  nephew  is  beardless,  I  am  general  of  her  armies, 
and  I  have  the  sway  and  functions  of  her  king.  When  he 
arrives  at  the  customary  age,  I  am  a  subject,  a  citizen,  a 
nothing,  a  miserable  fool  of  memories  gnawing  my  heart 
away  amidst  joyless  customs  and  stem  austerities,  with  the 
recollection  of  the  glories  of  Platasa  and  the  delights  of 
Byzantium.  Persian,  I  am  filled  from  the  crown  to  the  sole 
with  the  desire  of  power,  with  the  tastes  of  pleasure.  I 
have  that  within  me  which  before  my  time  has  made  heroes 
and  traitors,  raised  demi-gods  to  heaven,  or  chained  the 
lofty  Titans  to  the  rocks  of  Hades.  Something  I  may  yet 
be  ;  I  know  not  what.  But  as  the  man  never  returns  to  the 
boy,  so  never,  never,  never  once  more,  can  I  be  again  the 
Spartan  subject.  Enough  ;  such  as  I  am,  I  can  fulfil  what 
I  have  said  to  thee.  Will  thy  king  accept  me  as  his  ally, 
and  ratify  the  terms  I  have  proposed  ?  " 

"  I  feel  wellnigh  assured  of  it,"  answered  the  Persian ; 


58  PA  USA  NI AS,   THE  SPARTA  AT. 

"  for  since  thou  has  spoken  thus  boldly,  I  will  answer  thee 
in  the  same  strain.  Know,  then,  that  we  of  the  pure  race 
of  Persia,  we  the  sons  of  those  who  overthrew  the  Mede, 
and  extended  the  race  of  the  mountain  tribe,  from  the 
Scythian  to  the  Arab,  from  Egypt  to  Ind,  we  at  least  feel 
that  no  sacrifice  were  too  great  to  redeem  the  disgrace  we 
have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  thy  countrymen ;  and  the 
world  itself  were  too  small  an  empire,  too  confined  a  breath- 
ing place,  for  the  son  of  Darius,  if  this  nook  of  earth  were 
still  left  without  the  pale  of  his  dominion." 

"  This  nook  of  earth  ?  Ah,  but  Sparta  itself  must  own 
no  lord  but  me." 

"  It  is  agreed.'"' 

"  If  I  release  thee,  wilt  thou  bear  these  offers  to  the  king, 
travelling  day  and  night  till  thou  restest  at  the  foot  of  his 
throne  1  " 

"  I  should  carry  tidings  too  grateful  to  suffer  me  to  loiter 
by  the  road." 

"  And  Datis,  he  comprehends  us  not ;  but  his  eyes  glitter 
fiercely  on  me.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  thy  comrade  loves  not 
the  Greek." 

"  For  that  reason  he  will  aid  us  well.  Though  but  a 
Mede,  and  not  admitted  to  the  privileges  of  the  Pasargadae, 
his  relationship  to  the  most  powerful  and  learned  of  our 
Magi,  and  his  own  services  in  war,  have  won  him  such  in- 
fluence with  both  priests  and  soldiers  that  I  would  fain  have 
him  as  my  companion.  I  will  answer  for  his  fidelity  to  our 
joint  object." 

"  Enough ;  ye  are  both  free.  Gongylus,  you  will  now 
conduct  our  friends  to  the  place  where  the  steeds  await 
them.  You  will  then  privately  return  to  the  citadel,  and 
give  to  their  pretended  escape  the  probable  appearances  we 
devised.  Be  quick,  while  it  is  yet  night.  One  word  more. 
Persian,  our  success  depends  upon  thy  speed.  It  is  while 
the  Greeks  are  yet  at  Byzantium,  while  I  yet  am  in  com 
mand,  that  we  should  strike  the  blow.  *If  the  king  consent, 
through  Gongylus  thou  wilt  have  means  to  advise  me.  A 
Persian  army  must  march  at  once  to  the  Phrygian  confines, 
instructed  to  yield  command  to  me  when  the  hour  comes  to 
assume  it.  Delay  not  that  aid  by  such  vast  and  profitless 
recruits  as  swelled  the  pomp,  but  embarrassed  the  arms,  of 
Xerxes.  Armies  too  large  rot  by  their  own  unwieldiness  into 
decay.  A  band  of  fifty  thousand,  composed  solely  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians,  will  more   than  suffice.     With  such  an 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN:  5^ 

army,  if  my  command  be  undisputed,  I  will  win  a  second 
Plataea,  but  against  the  Greek." 

"  Your  suggestions  shall  be  law.  May  Ormuzd  favor  the 
bold }  " 

"  Away,  Gongylus  !     You  know  the  rest." 

Pausanias  followed  with  thoughtful  eyes  the  receding 
forms  of  Gongylus  and  the  Barbarians.  "  I  have  passed  for- 
ever," he  muttered,  "the  pillars  of  Hercules.  I  must  go  on 
or  perish.  If  I  fall,  I  die  execrated  and  abhorred  ;  if  I  suc- 
ceed, the  sound  of  the  choral  flutes  will  drown  the  hootings. 
Be  it  as  it  may,  I  do  not  and  will  not  repent.  If  the  wolf  gnaw 
my  entrails,  none  shall  hear  me  groan."  He  turned  and  met 
the  eyes  of  Alcman,  fixed  on  him  so  intently,  so  exultingly, 
that,  wondering  at  their  strange  expression,  he  drew  back 
and  said,  haughtily,  "  You  imitate  Medusa,  but  I  am  stone 
already." 

"Nay,"  said  the  Mothon,  in  a  voice  of  great  humility, 
"  if  you  are  of  stone,  it  is  like  the  divine  one  which,  when 
borne  before  armies,  secures  their  victory.  Blame  me  not 
that  I  gazed  on  you  with  triumph  and  hope.  "  For,  while 
you  conferred  with  the  Persian,  methought  the  munnurs  that 
reached  my  ear  sounded  thus  :  '  When  Pausanias  shall  arise, 
Sparta  shall  bend  low,  and  the  Helot  shall  break  his  chains.'  " 

"  They  do  not  hate  me,  these  Helots  .''  " 

*'  You  are  the  only  Spartan  they  love." 

"  Were  my  life  in  danger  from  the  Ephors — " 

"  The  Helots  would  rise  to  a  man." 

"  Did  I  plant  my  standard  on  Taygetus,  though  all  Sparta 
encamped  against  it — " 

"  All  the  slaves  would  cut  their  way  to  thy  side.  O  Pau- 
sanias, think  how  much  nobler  it  were  to  reign  over  tens  of 
thousands  who  become  freemen  at  thy  word,  than  to  be  but 
the  equal  of  ten  thousand  tyrants."        v 

"The  Helots  fight  well,  when  well  led,"  said  Pausanias, 
as  if  to  himself.     "  Launch  the  boat." 

"  Pardon  me,  Pausanias,  but  is  it  prudent  any  longer  to 
trust  Lysander  1  He  is  the  pattern  of  the  Spartan  youth, 
and  Sparta  is  his  mistress.  He  loves  her  too  well  not  to  blab 
to  her  every  secret." 

"  O  Sparta,  Sparta  !  wilt  thou  not  leave  me  one  friend."*' 
exclaimed  Pausanias.  "  No,  Alcman,  I  will  not  separate  my- 
self from  Lysander  till  I  despair  of  his  alliance.  To  your 
oars  !  Be  quick  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  Mothon's  tread  upon  the  pebbles 


6o  PA  US  AN/AS,  THE  SPARTAN. 

Lysander,  who  had  hitherto  remained  motionless,  reclining 
by  the  boat,  rose  and  advanced  toward  Pausanias.  There 
was  in  his  countenance,  as  the  moon  shining  on  it  cast  over 
his  statue-like  features  a  pale  and  marble  hue,  so  much  ol 
anxiety,  of  affection,  of  fear,  so  much  of  the  evident,  unmis- 
takable solicitude  of  friendship,  that  Pausanias,  who,  like 
most  men  envied  and  unloved,  was  susceptible  even  of  the 
semblance  of  attachment,  muttered  to  himself,  "  No,  thou 
wilt  not  desert  me,  nor  I  thee." 

"  My  friend,  my  Pausanias,"  said  Lysander,  as  he  ap- 
proached, "  I  have  had  fears — I  have  seen  omens.  Under- 
take nothing,  I  beseech  thee,  which  thou  hast  meditated  this 
night." 

"  And  what  hast  thou  seen  ? "  said  Pausanias,  with  a 
slight  change  of  countenance. 

"  I  was  praying  the  gods  for  thee  and  Sparta,  when  a 
star  shot  suddenly  from  the  heavens.  Pausanias,  this  is  the 
eighth  year,  the  year  in  which  on  moonless  nights  the  Ephors 
watch  the  heavens." 

"  And  if  a  star  fall,  they  judge  their  kings,"  interrupted 
Pausanias  (with  a  curl  of  his  haughty  lip,  "  to  have  offended 
the  gods,  and  suspend  them  from  their  office  till  acquitted  by 
an  oracle  at  Delphi,  or  a  priest  at  Olympia.  A  wise  supersti- 
tion. But,  Lysander,  the  night  is  not  moonless,  and  the 
omen  is  therefore  naught." 

Lysander  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  followed  his 
chieftain  to  the  boat,  in  gloomy  silence. 


fAUSANJAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  6x 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

At  noon  the  next  day,  not  only  the  vessels  in  the  harbor 
presented  the  same  appearance  of  inactivity  and  desertion 
which  had  characterized  the  preceding  evening,  but  the  camp 
itself  seemed  forsaken.  Pausanias  had  quit  his  ship  for  the 
citadel,  in  which  he  took  up  his  lodgment  when  on  shore  ; 
and  most  of  the  officers  and  sailors  of  the  squadron  were 
dispersed  among  the  taverns  and  wine-shops,  for  which,  even 
at  that  day,  Byzantium  was  celebrated. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  lowest  and  most  popular  of  these 
latter  resorts,  and  in  a  large  and  rude  chamber,  or  rather 
outhouse,  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  building,  that  a 
number  of  the  Laconian  Helots  were  assembled.  Some  of 
these  were  employed  as  sailors,  others  were  the  military  at- 
tendants on  the  Regent  and  the  Spartans  who  accompanied 
him. 

At  the  time  we  speak  of,  these  unhappy  beings  were  in  the 
full  excitement  of  that  wild  and  melancholy  gayety  which  is 
almost  peculiar  to  slaves  in  their  hours  of  recreation,  and  in 
which  reaction  of  wretchedness  modern  writers  have  dis- 
covered the  indulgence  of  a  native  humor.  Some  of  them 
were  drinking  deep,  wrangling,  jesting,  laughing  in  loud  dis- 
cord over  their  cups.  At  another  table  rose  the  deep  voice 
of  a  singer,  chanting  one  of  those  antique  airs  known  but  to 
these  degraded  sons  of  the  Homeric  Achaean,  and  probably 
in  its  origin  going  beyond  the  date  of  the  Tale  of  Troy ;  a 
song  of  gross  and  rustic  buffoonery,  but  ever  and  anon 
charged  with  some  image  or  thought  worthy  of  that  language 
of  the  universal  Muses.  His  companions  listened  with  a 
rude  delight  to  the  rough  voice  and  homely  sounds,  and  now 
and  then  interrupted  the  wassailers  at  the  other  tables  by  cries 
for  silence,  which  none  regarded.  Here  and  there,  with  in- 
tense and  fierce  anxiety  on  their  faces,  small  groups  were 


52  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAIf. 

playing  at  dice  ;  for  gambling  is  the  passion  of  slaves.     And 
many  of  these  men,  to  whom  wealth  could  bring  no  comfort, 
had  secretly  amassed  large  hoards  at  the  plunder  of  Plataa, 
from  which  they  had   sold  to   the  traders   of   ^gina  gold   at 
the  price  of  brass.     The  appearance  of  the  rioters  was  start- 
ling and  melancholy.     They  were  mostly  stunted  and  under- 
sized, as  are  generally  the  progeny  of  the  sons  of  woe  ;  lean 
and  gaunt  with  early  hardship,  the  spine  of  the  back  curved 
and  bowed  by  habitual   degradation  ;  but  with  the   hard-knit 
sinews  and  prominent  muscles  which  are  produced  by  labor 
and  the  mountain  air  ;  and  under  shaggy  and  lowering  brows 
sparkled  many  a  fierce,  perfidious,  and  malignant  eye  ;  while 
as  mirth,  or  gaming,  or  song,  aroused  smiles  in  the  various 
groups,  the  rude  features  spoke  of  passions  easily  released 
from  the  sullen  bondage  of  servitude,  and  revealed  the  nature 
of  the  animals  which  thralldom  had   failed  to  tame.     Here 
and  there,  however,  were  to  be  seen  forms,  unlike  the  rest,  of 
stately  stature,  of  fair  proportions,  wearing  the  divine  linea- 
ments of  Grecian  beauty.     From  some  of  these   a  higher  na- 
ture spoke  out,  not  in  mirth,  that  last  mockery  of   supreme 
woe,  but  in   an   expression   of   stern,   grave,   and   disdainful 
melancholy  ;  others,  on  the  contrary,  surpassed  the  rest  in 
vehemence,  clamor,  and  exuberant  extravagance  of  emotion, 
as  if  their  nobler  physical  development  only  served  to  entitle 
them  to  that  base   superiority.     For  health  and  vigor  can 
make;  an  aristocracy  even  among  Helots.     The  garments  of 
these  merry-makers  increased    the    peculiar  effect  of  their 
general   appearance.      The    Helots   in  military    excursions 
naturally  relinquished  the  rough  sheepskin  dress  that  char- 
acterized their  countrymen   at  home,  the  serfs  of  the   soil. 
The  sailors  had  thrown  oft",  for  coolness,  the  leathern  jerkins 
they  habitually  wore,  and,  with  their  bare  arms  and  breasts, 
looked  as  if  of  a  race  that  yet  shivered,  primitive  and  unre- 
deemed, on  the  outskirts  of  civilization. 

Strangely  contrasted  with  their  rougher  comrades  were 
those  who,  placed  occasionally  about  the  person  of  the  Re- 
gent, were  indulged  with  the  loose  and  clean  robes  of  gay 
colors  worn  by  the  Asiatic  slaves ;  and  these  ever  and  anon 
glanced  at  their  finery  with  an  air  of  conscious  triumph.  Al- 
together, it  was  a  sight  that  might  well  have  appalled,  by  its 
solemn  lessons  of  human  change,  the  poet  who  would  have  be- 
held in  that  imbruted  fiock  the  descendants  of  the  race  over 
whom  Pelops,  and  Atreus,  and  Menelaus,  and  Agamemnon, 
the  king  of  men,  had  held  their  antique  sway,  and  might  still 


PAUSAN/AS,   THE  SPARTAN:  6.^ 

more  have  saddened  the  philosopher  who  believed,  as  Mei> 
ander  has  nobly  written,  "  that  Nature  knows  no  slaves." 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  confused  and  uproarious 
hubbub,  the  door  opened,  and  Alcman  the  Mothon  entered 
the  chamber.  At  this  sight  the  clamor  ceased  in  an  instant. 
The  party  rose,  as  by  a  general  impulse,  and  crowded  round 
the  new-comer. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  regarding  them  with  the  same 
calm  and  frigid  indifference  which  usually  characterized  his 
demeanor,  "  you  do  well  to  make  merry  while  you  may,  for 
something  tells  me  it  will  not  last  long.  We  shall  return  to 
Lacedaemon.  You  look  black.  So,  then,  is  there  no  delight 
in  the  thought  of  home  .-'  " 

'■'■Home!"  muttered  one  of  the  Helots,  and  the  word, 
sounding  drearily  on  his  lips,  was  echoed  by  many,  so  that  il 
circled  like  a  groan. 

"  Yet  ye  have  your  children  as  much  as  if  ye  were  free," 
said  Alcman. 

"  And  for  that  reason  it  pains  us  to  see  them  play,  un- 
aware of  the  future,"  said  a  Helot  of  better  mien  than  his 
comrades. 

"  But  do  you  know,"  returned  the  Mothon,  gazing  on  the 
last  speaker  steadily,  "  that  for  your  children  there  may  not 
be  a  future  fairer  than  that  which  your  fathers  knew  ?  " 

"  Tush ! "  exclaimed  one  of  the  unhappy  men,  old 
before  his  time,  and  of  an  aspect  singularly  sullen  and 
ferocious.  "  Such  have  been  your  half  hints  and  mystic 
prophecies  for  years.  What  good  comes  of  them  ?  Was 
there  ever  an  oracle  for  Helots  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  repute  in  the  oracles  even  of  Apollo,"  re 
turned  Alcman,  "  till  the  Apollo-serving  Dorians  became  con 
querors.     Oracles  are  the  children  of  victories." 

"  But  there  are  no  victories  for  us,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
mournfully. 

"  Never,  if  ye  despair,"  said  the  Mothon,  loftily 
What !  "  he  added,  after  a  pause,  looking  round  at  the 
crowd,  "  what !  do  ye  not  see  that  hope  dawned  upon  us 
from  the  hour  when  thirty-five  thousand  of  us  were  admitted 
as  soldiers,  ay,  and  as  conquerors,  at  Plataea  ?  From  that 
moment  we  knew  our  strength.  Listen  to  me.  At  Samos 
once  a  thousand  slaves — mark  me,  but  a  thousand — escaped 
the  yoke,  seized  on  arms,  fled  to  the  mountains  (we  have 
mountains  even  in  Laconia),  descended  from  time  to  time  to 
devastate  the  fields  and  to  harass  their  ancient  lords.     By 


6^  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN". 

habit  they  learned  war,  by  desperation  they  grew  indomitable. 
What  became  of  these  slaves  ?  Were  they  cut  off  ?  Did 
they  perish  by  hunger,  by  the  sword,  in  the  dungeon  or  field  ? 
No ;  those  brave  men  were  the  founders  of  Ephesus."* 

"  But  the  Samians  were  not  Spartans,"  mumbled  the  old 
Helot. 

"  As  ye  will,  as  ye  will,"  said  Alcman,  relapsing  into  his 
usual  coldness.  "  I  wish  you  never  to  strike  unless  ye  are 
prepared  to  die  or  conquer." 

"  Some  of  us  are,"  said  the  younger  Helot. 

"  Sacrifice  a  cock  to  the  Fates,  then." 

"  But  why,  think  you,"  asked  one  of  the  Helots,  "  that  we 
shall  be  so  soon  summoned  back  to  Laconia  .-'  " 

"  Because  while  ye  are  drinking  and  idling  here — drones 
that  ye  are — there  is  commotion  in  the  Athenian  beehive 
yonder.  Know  that  Ariamanes  the  Persian,  and  Datis  the 
Mede,  have  escaped.  The  allies,  especially  the  Athenians, 
are  excited  and  angry  :  and  many  of  them  are  already  come 
in  a  body  to  Pausanias,  whom  they  accuse  of  abetting  the 
escape  of  the  fugitives." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  and  if  Pausanias  does  not  give  honey  in  his  words 
— and  few  flowers  grow  on  his  lips — the  bees  will  sting,  that 
is  all.  A  trireme  will  be  despatched  to  Sparta  with  com- 
plaints. Pausanias  will  be  recalled — perhaps  his  life  endan- 
gered." 

"  Endangered  !  "  echoed  several  voices. 

"  Yes.  What  is  that  to  you — what  care  you  for  his  dan- 
ger ?     He  is  a  Spartan." 

"  Ay,"  cried  one  ;  "  but  he  has  been  kind  to  the  Helots." 

"And  we  have  fought  by  his  side,"  said  another. 

"  And  he  dressed  my  wound  with  his  own  hand,"  mur- 
mured a  third. 

"  And  we  have  got  money  under  him,"  growled  a  fourth. 

"And,  more  than  all,"  said  Alcman,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  if 
he  lives,  he  will  break  down  the  Spartan  government.  Ye  will 
not  let  this  man  die  ?  " 

"  Never  !  "  exclaimed  the  whole  assembly.  Alcman  gazed 
with  a  kind  of  calm  and  strange  contempt  on  the  flashing  eyes 
the  fiery  gestures,   of  the  throng,   and  then  said,  coldl}^— 

**  So,  then,  ye  would  fight  for  one  man  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  that  would  we." 

*  Malacus  ap.  Athen.,  6. 


PAUSANlASy   THE  SPARTAN:  65 

"  But  not  for  your  own  liberties,  and  those  of  your  chil- 
dren unborn  ? " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ;  but  the  taunt  was  felt,  and  its 
logic  was  already  at  work  in  many  of  these  rugged  breasts. 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open; 
and  a  Helot,  in  the  dress  worn  by  the  attendants  of  the  Ke- 
gent,  entered,  breathless  and  panting. 

"  Alcman  !  the  gods  be  praised,  you  are  here.  Pausanias 
commands  your  presence.  Lose  not  a  moment.  And  you 
too,  comrades,  by  Demeter!  do  you  mean  to  spend  the  whole 
days  at  your  cups  ?  Come  to  the  citadel ;  ye  may  be 
wanted." 

This  was  spoken  to  such  of  the  Helots  as  belonged  to  the 
train  of  Pausanias. 

"  Wanted — what  for  ?  "  said  one.  "  Pausanias  gives  us  a 
holiday  while  he  employs  the  sleek  Egyptians." 

"  Who  that  serves  Pausanias  ever  asks  that  question,  or 
can  forsee  from  one  hour  to  another  what  he  maybe  required 
to  do  ?  "  returned  the  self-important  messenger,  with  great 
contempt.  Meanwhile  the  Mothon,  all  whose  movements 
were  peculiarly  silent  and  rapid,  was  already  on  his  way  to 
the  citadel.  The  distance  was  not  inconsiderable,  but  Alc- 
man was  swift  of  foot.  Tightening  the  girdle  round  his 
waist,  he  swung  himself,  as  it  were,  into  a  kind  of  run,  which, 
though  not  seemingly  rapid,  cleared  the  ground  with  a  speed 
almost  rivalling  that  of  the  ostrich,  from  the  length  of  the 
stride  and  the  extreme  regularity  of  the  pace.  Such  was  at 
that  day  the  method  by  which  messages  were  despatched 
from  state  to  state,  especially  in  mountainous  countries;  and 
the  length  of  way  which  was  performed,  without  stopping,  by 
the  foot-couriers  might  startle  the  best  trained  pedestrians  in 
our  times.  So  swiftly,  indeed,  did  the  Mothon  pursue  his 
course,  that  just  by  the  citadel  he  came  up  with  the  Grecian 
captains  who,  before  he  joined  the  Helots,  had  set  off  for 
their  audience  with  Pausanias.  There  were  some  fourteen 
or  fifteen  of  them,  and  they  so  filled  up  the  path,  which,  just 
there,  was  not  broad,  that  Alcman  was  obliged  to  pause  as 
he  came  upon  their  rear. 

"And  whither  so  fast,  fellow?"  said  Uliadesthe  Samian, 
turning  round  as  he  heard  the  strides  of  the  Mothon. 

"  Please  you,  master,  I  am  bound  to  the  General." 

•'  Oh,  his  slave  !     Is  he  going  to  free  you  .-'  " 

**  I  am  already  as  free  as  a  man  who  has  no  city  can  be.* 


66  FA  USA X/ AS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"  Pithy.  The  Spartan  slaves  have  the  dryness  of  their 
masters.     How,  sirrah  !  do  you  jostle  me  ?  " 

"  I  crave  pardon.     I  only  seek  to  pass." 

"Never  !  to  take  precedence  of  a  Samian.     Keep  back." 

"  I  dare  not." 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  him  pass,"  said  the  young  Chian,  Antago* 
ras  ;  "he  will  get  scourged  if  he  is  too  late.  Perhaps,  like 
the  Persians,  Pausanias  wears  false  hair,  and  wishes  the 
slave  to  dress  it  in  honor  of  us." 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  an  Athenian.  "  Are  these  taunts 
prudent .''  " 

Here  there  suddenly  broke  forth  a  loud  oath  from  Uli- 
ades,  who,  lingering  a  little  behind  the  rest,  had  laid  rough 
hands  on  the  Mothon,  as  the  latter  once  more  attempted  to 
pass  him.  With  a  dextrous  and  abrupt  agility,  Alcman  had 
extricated  himself  from  the  Samian's  grasp,  but  with  a  force 
that  swung  the  captain  on  his  knee.  Taking  advantage  of 
the  position  of  the  foe,  the  Mothon  darted  onward,  and, 
threading  the  rest  of  the  party,  disappeared  through  the 
neighboring  gates  of  the  citadel. 

"  You  saw  the  insult !  "  said  Uliades,  between  his  ground 
teeth,  as  he  recovered  himself.  "  The  master  shall  answer 
for  the  slave  ;  and  to  me,  too,  who  have  forty  slaves  of  my 
own  at  home  !  " 

"  Pooh  !  think  no  more  of  it,"  said  Antagoras,  gayly  ; 
"  the  poor  fellow  meant  only  to  save  his  own  hide." 

"  As  if  that  were  of  any  consequence  !  My  slaves  are 
brought  up  from  the  cradle  not  to  know  if  they  have  hides 
or  not.  You  may  pinch  them  by  the  hour  together,  and  they 
don't  feel  you.  My  little  ones  do  it,  in  rainy  weather,  to 
strengthen  their  fingers.     The  gods  keep  them  !  " 

"  An  excellent  gymnastic  invention.  But  we  are  now 
within  the  citadel.  Courage  !  The  Spartan  grayhound  has 
long  teeth." 

Pausanius  was  striding  with  hasty  steps  up  and  down  a 
long  and  narrow  peristyle  or  colonnade  that  surrounded  the 
apartments  appropriated  to  his  private  use,  when  Alcman 
joined  him. 

"  Well,  well,"  cried  he,  eagerly,  as  he  saw  the  Mothon, 
"you  have  mingled  with  the  common  gangs  of  these  wor- 
shipful seamen,  these  new  men,  these  lonians.  Think  you 
they  have  so  far  overcome  their  awe  of  the  Spartan  that  they 
would  obey  the  mutinous  commands  of  their  officers?** 

"  Pausanias,  the  truth  must  be  spoken — ^yes  1 " 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN.  67 

"Ye  gods?  one  would  think  each  of  these  wranglers  im- 
agined he  had  a  whole  Persian  army  in  his  boat.  Why,  1 
have  seen  the  day  when,  if  in  any  assembly  of  Greeks  a 
Spartan  entered,  the  sight  of  his  very  hat  and  walking-staff 
cast  a  terror  through  the  whole  conclave." 

"  True,  Pausanias  ;  but  they  suspect  that  Sparta  herself 
wil!  disown  her  General." 

"  Ah  !  say  they  so  ! "' 

"  With  one  voice." 

Pausanias  paused  a  moment  in  deep  and  perturbed 
thought, 

"  Have  they  dared  yet,  think  you,  to  send  to  Sparta  .-'  " 

"  I  hear  not ;  but  a  trireme  is  in  readiness  to  sail  after 
your  conference  with  the  captains." 

"  So,  Alcman,  it  were  ruin  to  my  schemes  to  be  recalled 
— until — until — " 

"The  hour  to  join  the  Persians  on  the  frontier — yes." 

"One  word  more.  Have  you  had  occasion  to  sound  the 
Helots  ?  " 

"  But  half  an  hour  since.  They  will  be  true  to  you. 
Lift  your  right  hand,  and  the  ground  where  you  stand  will 
bristle  with  men  who  fear  death  even  less  than  the  Spar- 
tans." 

"  Their  aid  were  useless  here  against  the  whole  Grecian 
fleet ;  but  in  the  defiles  of  Laconia,  otherwise.  I  am  pre- 
pared, then,  for  the  worst,  even  recall." 

Here  a  slave  crossed  from  a  kind  of  passage  that  led  from 
the  outer  chambers  into  the  peristyle. 

"  The  Grecian  captains  have  arrived  to  demand  audience.' 

"  Bid  them  wait,"  cried  Pausanias,  passionately. 

"  Hist !  Pausanias,"  whispered  the  Mothon.  "  Is  it  not 
best  to  soothe  them — to  play  with  them — to  cover  the  lion 
with  the  fox's  hide  ?  " 

The  Regent  turned  with  a  frown  to  his  foster-brother,  as 
if  surprised  and  irritated  by  his  presumption  in  advising  ;  and 
indeed  of  late,  since  Pausanias  had  admitted  the  son  of 
the  Helot  into  his  guilty  intrigues,  Alcman  had  assumed  a 
bearing  and  tone  of  equality  which  Pausanias,  wrapped  in 
his  dark  schemes,  did  not  always  notice,  but  at  which  from 
time  to  time  he  chafed  angrily,  yet  again  permitted  it,  and 
the  custom  gained  ground  ;  for  in  guilt  conventional  distinc- 
tions rapidly  vanish,  and  mind  speaks  freely  out  to  mind. 
The  presence  of  the  slave,  however,  restrained  him,  and  aftei 
a  momentary  silence  his  natural  acuteness,  great  when  undis 


68  PAU6AAJAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 

turbed  by  passion  or  pride,  made  him  sensible  of  the  wisdom 
of  Alcman's  counsel. 

"  Hold  !  "  he  said  to  the  slave.  "  Announce  to  the  Gre- 
cian Chiefs  that  Pausanias  will  await  them  forthwith.  Be- 
gone !  Now,  Alcman,  I  will  talk  over  these  gentle  monitors. 
Not  in  vain  have  I  been  educated  in  Sparta  ;  yet  if  by  chance 
I  fail,  hold  thyself  ready  to  haste  to  Sparta  at  a  minute's  warn- 
ing. I  must  forestall  the  foe.  I  have  gold,  gold  ;  and  he 
who  employs  most  of  the  yellow  orators  will  prevail  most  with 
the  Ephors.  Give  me  my  staff ;  and  tarry  in  yon  chamber  to 
the  left." 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  a  large  hall,  with  a  marble  fountain  in  the  middle  of  it, 
the  Greek  Captains  awaited  the  coming  of  Pausanias.  A  low 
and  muttered  conversation  was  carried  on  among  them,  in 
small  knots  and  groups,  amidst  which  the  voice  of  Uliades 
was  heard  the  loudest.  Suddenly  the  hum  was  hushed,  for 
footsteps  was  heard  without.  The  thick  curtains  that  at  one 
extreme  screened  the  doorway  was  drawn  aside,  and,  attended 
by  three  of  the  Spartan  knights,  among  whom  was  Lysander, 
and  by  two  soothsayers,  who  was  seldom  absent,  in  war  or 
warlike  council,  from  the  side  of  the  royal  Heracleid,  Pau- 
sanias slowly  entered  the  hall.  So  majestic,  grave,  and  self- 
collected  were  the  bearing  and  aspect  of  the  Spartan  General, 
that  the  hereditary  awe  inspired  by  his  race  was  once  more 
awakened,  and  the  angry  crowd  saluted  him,  silent  and  half 
abashed.  Although  the  strong  passions  and  the  daring  arro- 
gance of  Pausanias  did  not  allow  him  the  exercise  of  that  en- 
during, systematic,  unsleeping  hypocrisy  which,  in  relations 
with  the  foreigner,  often  characterized  his  countrymen,  and 
which,  from  its  outward  dignity  and  profound  craft,  exalted 
the  vice  into  genius ;  yet,  trained  from  earliest  childhood  in 
the  arts  that  hide  design,  that  control  the  countenance,  and 
convey  in  the  fewest  words  the  most  ambiguous  meanings, 
the  Spartan  General  could,  for  a  brief  period,  or  for  a  criti- 
cal purpose,  command  all  the  wiles  for  which  the  Greek  was 
nationally  famous,  and  in  which  Thucydides  believed  that,  of 
all  Greeks,  the  Spartan  was  the  most    skilful  adept.     And 


PA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  69 

now,  as,  uniting  the  courtesy  of  the  host  with  the  dignity  of 
the  chief,  he  returned  the  salute  of  the  officers,  and  smiled 
his  gracious  welcome,  the  unwonted  affability  of  his  manner 
took  the  discontented  by  surprise,  and  half  propitiated  the 
most  indignant  in  his  favor. 

"  I  need  not  ask  you,  O  Greeks,"  said  he,  "  why  ye  have 
sought  me.  Ye  have  learned  the  escape  of  Araimanes  and 
Datis — a  strange  and  unaccountable  mischance." 

The  captains  looked  round  at  each  other  in  silence,  till 
at  last  every  eye  rested  upon  Cimon,  whose  illustrious  birth, 
as  well  as  his  known  respect  for  Sparta,  combined  with  his 
equally  well-known  dislike  of  her  chief,  seemed  to  mark  him 
despite  his  youth,  as  the  fittest  person  to  be  speaker  for  the 
rest.  Cimon,  who  understood  the  mute  appeal,  and  whose 
courage  never  failed  his  ambition,  raised  his  head,  and  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  replied  to  the  Spartan  : — 

"  Pausanias,  you  guess  rightly  the  cause  which  leads  us  to 
your  presence.  These  prisoners  were  our  noblest ;  their 
capture  the  reward  of  our  common  valor ;  they  were  generals, 
moreover,  of  high  skill  and  repute.  They  had  become  expe- 
rienced in  our  Grecian  warfare,  even  by  their  defeats.  Those 
two  men,  should  Xerxes  again  invade  Greece,  are  worth  more 
to  his  service  than  half  the  nations  whese  myriads  crossed 
the  Hellespont.  But  this  is  not  all.  The  arms  of  the  Bar- 
barians we  can  encounter  undismayed.  It  is  treason  at  home 
which  can  alone  appall  us." 

There  was  a  low  murmur  among  the  lonians  at  these 
words.  Pausanias,  with  well-dissembled  surprise  on  his  coun- 
tenance, turned  his  eyes  from  Cimon  to  the  murmurers,  and 
from  them  again  to  Cimon,  and  repeated  : — 

"  Treason  !  son  of  Miltiades  ;  and  from  whom  .?  " 

"  Such  is  the  question  that  we  would  put  to  thee,  Pausa- 
nias— to  thee,  whose  eyes,  as  leader  of  our  armies,  are  doubt- 
less vigilant  daily  and  nightly  over  the  interests  of  Greece." 

"  I  am  not  blind,"  returned  Pausanias,  appearing  uncon- 
scious of  the  irony  ;  "  but  I  am  not  Argus.  If  thou  hast 
discovered  aught  that  is  hidden  from  me,  speak  boldly." 

"  Thou  hast  made  Gongylus  the  Eretrian  governor  of  Byzan- 
tium ;  for  what  great  services  we  know  not.  But  he  has  lived 
much  in  Persia." 

"  For  that  reason,  on  this  the  frontier  of  her  domains,  he 
is  better  enabled  to  penetrate  her  designs  and  counteract  her 
ambition." 

*'  This  Gongylus,"  continued  Cimon,  "  is  well   known  to 


70 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN: 


have  much  frequented  the  Persian  captives  in  their  confine- 
ment." 

"  In  order  to  learn  from  them  what  may  yet  be  the  strength 
of  the  king.     In  this  he  had  my  commands." 

"  I  question  it  not.  But,  Pausanias,"  continued  Cimon, 
raising  his  voice,  and  with  energy,  "  had  he  also  thy  com- 
mands to  leave  thy  galley  last  night,  and  to  return  to  th« 
citadel  ?" 

"  He  had.     What  then  ?  " 

"  And  on  his  return  the  Persians  disappear — a  singulai 
chance,  truly.  But  that  is  not  all.  Last  night,  before  he  re- 
turned to  the  citadel,  Gongylus  was  perceived,  alone,  in  a. 
retired  spot  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city." 

"  Alone  ?  "  echoed  Pausanias. 

"  Alone.  If  he  had  companions,  they  were  not  discerned. 
This  spot  was  out  of  the  path  he  should  have  taken.  By 
this  spot,  on  the  soft  soil,  are  the  marks  of  hoofs,  and  in  the 
thicket  close  by  were  found  these  witnesses  ; "  and  Cimon 
drew  from  his  vest  a  handful  of  the  pearls  only  worn  by  the 
Eastern  captives. 

"  There  is  something  in  this,"  said  Xanthippus,  "which 
requires  at  least  examination.  May  it  please  you,  Pausanias, 
to  summon  Gongylus  hither  ?  " 

A  momentary  shade  passed  over  the  brow  of  the  conspira- 
tor, but  the  eyes  of  the  Greeks  were  on  him,  and  to  refuse 
were  as  dangerous  as  to  comply.  He  turned  to  one  of  his 
Spartans,  and  ordered  him  to  summon  the  Eretrian. 

"  You  have  spoken  well,  Xanthippus.  This  matter  must 
be  sifted." 

With  that,  motioning  the  captains  to  the  seats  that  were 
ranged  round  the  walls  and  before  a  long  table,  he  cast  him- 
self into  a  large  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  waited  in 
silent  anxiety  the  entrance  of  the  Eretrian.  His  whole  trust 
now  was  in  the  craft  and  penetration  of  his  friend.  If  the 
courage  or  the  cunning  of  Gongylus  failed  him — if  but  a 
word  betrayed  him — Pausanias  was  lost.  He  was  girt  by 
men  who  hated  him ;  and  he  read  in  the  dark,  fierce  eyes  of 
the  lonians — whose  pride  he  had  so  often  galled,  whose 
revenge  he  had  so  carelessly  provoked — the  certainty  of  ruin. 
One  hand  hidden  within  the  folds  of  his  robe  convulsively 
clenched  the  flesh,  in  the  stern  agony  of  his  suspense.  His 
calm  and  composed  face  nevertheless  exhibited  to  the  cap 
tains  no  trace  of  fear. 


PAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN:  yi 

The  draperies  were  again  drawn  aside,  and  Gongylus 
slowly  entered. 

Habituated  to  peril  of  every  kind  from  his  earliest  youth, 
the  Eretrian  was  quick  to  detect  its  presence.  The  sight  of 
the  silent  Greeks,  formally  seated  round  the  hall,  and  watch- 
ing his  steps  and  countenance  with  eyes  whose  jealous  and 
vindictive  meaning  it  required  no  G^^dipus  to  read ;  the  grave 
and  half-averted  brow  of  Pausanias ;  and  the  angry  excite- 
ment that  had  prevailed  amidst  the  host  at  the  news  of  the 
escape  of  the  Persians — all  sufficed  to  apprise  him  of  the 
nature  of  the  council  to  which  he  had  been  summoned. 

Supporting  himself  on  his  staff,  and  dragging  his  limbs 
tardily  along,  he  had  leisure  "^o  examine,  though  with  ap- 
parent indifference,  the  whole  group ;  and  when,  with  a  calm 
salutation,  he  arrested  his  steps  at  the  foot  of  the  table  im- 
mediately facing  Pausanias,  he  darted  one  glance  at  the 
Spartan,  so  fearless,  so  bright,  so  cheering,  that  Pausanias 
breathed  hard,  as  if  a  load  were  thrown  from  his  breast,  and, 
turning  easily  toward  Cimon,  said, — 

"  Behold  your  witness.  Which  of  us  shall  be  questioner, 
and  which  judge  ?  " 

"  That  matters  but  little,"  returned  Cimon.  "  Before 
this  audience  justice  must  force  its  way." 

"  It  rests  with  you,  Pausanias,"  said  Xanthippus,  "  to  ac- 
quaint the  Governor  of  Byzantium  with  the  suspicions  he  has 
excited." 

"  Gongylus,"  said  Pausanias,  "  the  captive  Barbarians, 
Ariamanes  and  Datis,  were  placed  by  me  especially  under 
thy  vigilance  and  guard.  Thou  knowest  that,  while  (for 
humanity  becomes  the  victor)  I  ordered  thee  to  vex  them  by 
no  undue  restraints,  I  nevertheless  commanded  thee  to  con- 
sider thy  life  itself  answerable  for  their  durance.  They  have 
escaped.  The  Captains  of  Greece  demand  of  thee,  as  I  de- 
manded— by  what  means — by  what  connivance  ?  Speak  the 
truth,  and  deem  that  in  falsehood,  as  well  as  in  treacher}^, 
detection  is  easy,  and  death  certain." 

The  tone  of  Pausanias,  and  his  severe  look,  pleased  and 
re-assured  all  the  Greeks,  except  the  wiser  Cimon,  who, 
though  his  suspicions  were  a  little  shaken,  continued  to  fix 
his  eyes  rather  on  Pausanias  than  on  the  Eretrian. 

"  Pausanias,"  replied  Gongylus,  drawing  up  his  lean  frame, 
as  with  the  dignity  of  conscious  innocence,  "  that  suspicion 
could  fall  upon  me,  I  find  it  difficult  to  suppose.  Raised  by 
thy  favor  to  the  command  of  Byzantium,  what  have  I  to  gain 


12  PAUSAN.^AS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

by  treason  or  neglect  ?  These  Persians — I  knew  them  well. 
I  had  known  them  in  Susa — known  them  when  I  served 
])arius,  being  then  an  exile  from  Eretria.  Ye  know,  my 
countrymen,  that  when  Darius  invaded  Greece  I  left  his 
court  and  armies,  and  sought  my  native  land,  to  fall  or  to 
conquer  in  its  cause.  Well,  then,  I  knew  these  Barbarians. 
J  sought  them  frequently ;  partly,  it  may  be,  to  return  to 
them  in  their  adversity  the  courtesies  shown  me  in  mine.  Ye 
are  Greeks  :  ye  will  not  condemn  me  for  humanity  and 
gratitude.  Partly  with  another  motive.  I  knew  that  Aria- 
manes  had  the  greatest  influence  over  Xerxes.  I  knew  that 
the  great  king  would  at  any  cost  seek  to  regain  the  liberty  of 
his  friend.  I  urged  upon  Ariamanes  the  wisdom  of  a  peace 
with  the  Greeks  even  on  their  own  terms.  I  told  him  that 
when  Xerxes  sent  to  offer  the  ransom,  conditions  of  peace 
would  avail  more  than  sacks  of  gold.  He  listened  and  ap- 
proved. Did  I  wrong  in  this,  Pausanias  "i  No ;  for  thou, 
whose  deep  sagacity  has  made  thee  condescend  even  to  ap- 
pear half  Persian,  because  thou  art  all  Greek — thou  thyself 
didst  sanction  my  efforts  on  behalf  of  Greece." 

Pausanias  looked  with  a  silent  triumph  round  the  con- 
clave, and  Xanthippus  nodded  approval. 

"  In  order  to  conciliate  them,  and  with  too  great  conti- 
dence  in  their  faith,  I  relaxed  by  degrees  the  rigor  of  their 
confinement ;  that  was  a  fault,  I  own  it.  Their  apartments 
communicated  with  a  court  in  which  I  suffered  them  to  walk 
at  will.  But  I  placed  there  two  sentinels  in  whom  I  deemed 
I  could  repose  all  trust — not  my  own  countrymen — not 
Eretrians — not  thy  Spartans  or  Laconians,  Pausanias.  No  ; 
I  deemed  that  if  ever  the  jealousy  (a  laudable  jealousy)  of  the 
Greeks  should  demand  an  account  of  my  faith  and  vigilance, 
my  witnesses  should  be  the  countrymen  of  those  who  have 
ever  the  most  suspected  me.  Those  sentinels  were,  the  one 
a  Samian,  the  other  a  Plataean.  These  men  have  betrayed 
me  and  Greece.  Last  night,  on  returning  hither  from  the 
vessel,  I  visited  the  Persians.  They  were  about  to  retire  to 
rest,  and  I  quit  them  soon,  suspecting  nothing.  This  morn- 
ing they  had  fled,  and  with  them  their  abettors,  the  sentinels. 
I  hastened,  first,  to  send  soldiers  in  search  of  them ;  and, 
secondly,  to  inform  Pausanias  in  his  galley.  If  I  have  erred, 
I  submit  me  to  your  punishment.  Punish  my  error,  but  ac- 
quit my  honesty." 

"  And  what,"  said  Cimon,  abruptly,  "  led  thee  far  from 
thy  path,  between  the  Heracleid's  galley  and  the  citadel,  to  th« 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  73 

fields  near  the  temple  of  Aphrodite,  between  the  citadel,  and 
the  bay  ?  Thy  color  changes.  Mark  him,  Greeks.  Quick  ; 
thine  answer." 

The  countenance  of  Gongylus  had  indeed  lost  its  color 
and  hardihood.  The  loud  tone  of  Cimon — the  effect  his  con- 
fusion produced  on  the  Greeks,  some  of  whom,  the  lonians, 
less  self-possessed  and  dignified  than  the  rest,  half  rose,  with 
fierce  gestures  and  muttered  exclamations — served  still  moT-e 
to  embarrass  and  intimidate  him.  He  cast  a  hasty  look  on 
Pausanias,  who  averted  his  eyes.  There  was  a  pause.  The 
Spartan  gave  himself  up  for  lost ;  but  how  much  more  was  his 
fear  increased  when  Gongylus,  casting  an  imploring  gaze  upon 
the  Greeks,  said  hesitatingly, — 

"  Question  me  no  further.  I  dare  not  speak  :  "  and  as 
he  spoke  he  pointed  to  Pausanias. 

"  It  was  the  dread  of  thy  resentment,  Pausanias."  said 
Cimon,  coldly,  "  that  withheld  his  confession.  Vouchsafe 
to  re-assure  him." 

"  Eretrian,"  said  Pausanias,  striking  his  clenched  hand 
on  the  table,  "  I  know  not  what  tale  trembles  on  thy  lips ; 
but,  be  it  what  it  may,  give  it  voice,  I  command  thee." 

*'  Thou  thyself,  thou  wert  the  cause  that  led  me  toward 
the  temple  of  Aphrodite,"  said  Gongylus,  in  a  low  voice. 

At  these  words  there  went  forth  a  general  dee[>breathed 
murmur.  With  one  accord  every  Greek  rose  to  his  feet.  The 
Spartan  attendants  in  the  rear  of  Pausanias  drew  closer  to  his 
person ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  their  faces — yet  more  dark 
and  vindictive  than  those  of  the  other  Greeks — that  promised 
protection.  Pausanias  alone  remained  seated  and  unmoved. 
His  imminent  danger  gave  him  back  all  his  valor,  all  his 
pride,  all  his  passionate  and  profound  disdain.  With  un- 
bleached cheek,  with  haughty  eyes,  he  met  the  gaze  of  the 
assembly  :  and  then  waving  his  hand  as  if  that  gesture  sufficed 
to  restrain  and  awe  them,  he  said, — 

"  In  the  name  of  all  Greece,  whose  chief  I  yet  am,  whose 
protector  I  have  once  been,  I  command  ye  to  resume  your 
seats,  and  listen  to  the  Eretrain.  Spartans,  fall  back.  Gov- 
ernor of  Byzantium,  pursue  your  tale." 

"  Yes,  Pausanias,"  resumed  Gongylus,  "  you  alone  were 
the  cause  that  drew  me  from  my  rest.  I  would  fain  be  silent, 
but—" 

"  Say  on  !  "  cried  Pausanias,  fiercely,  and  measuring  the 
space  between  himselt  and  Gongylus,  in  doubt  whether  the 
Eretrian's  head  were  within  reach  of  his  cimeter  ;  so  at  least 


74  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAl^. 

Gongylus  interpreted  that  freezing  look  of  despair  andven 
geance,  and  he  drew  back  some  paces.  "  I  place  myself  O 
Greeks,  under  your  protection ;  it  is  dangerous  to  reveal  the 
errors  of  the  great.  Know  that,  as  Governor  of  Byzantium, 
many  things  ye  wot  not  of  reach  my  ears.  Hence,  I  guard 
against  dangers  while  ye  sleep,  Learn,  then,  that  Pasuanias 
is  not  without  the  weakness  of  his  ancestor,  Alcides  ;  he  loves 
a  maiden — a  Byzantine — Cleonice,  the  daughter  of  Diagoras." 

This  unexpected  announcement,  made  in  so  grave  a  tone, 
provoked  a  smile  among  the  gay  lonians  ;  but  an  exclamation 
of  jealous  anger  broke  from  Antagoras,  and  a  blush,  partly  of 
wounded  pride,  partly  of  warlike  shame,  crimsoned  the  swarthy 
cheek  of  Pausanias.  Cimon,  who  was  by  no  means  free  from 
the  joyous  infirmities  of  youth,  relaxed  his  severe  brow, 
and  said,  after  a  short  pause, — 

"  Is  it,  then,  among  the  grave  duties  of  the  Governor  of 
Byzantium  to  watch  over  the  fair  Cleonice,  or  to  aid  the  suit 
of  her  illustrious  lover  ?  " 

"  Not  so, "  answered  Gongylns  ;  "  but  the  life  of  the 
Grecian  General  is  dear,  at  least,  to  the  grateful  Governor 
of  Byzantium.  Greeks,  ye  know  that  among  you  Pausanias 
has  many  foes.  Returning  last  night  from  his  presence,  and 
passing  through  the  thicket,  I  overheard  voices  at  hand.  1 
caught  the  name  of  Pausanias.  "  The  Spartan,  "  said  one  voice, 
"  nightly  visits  the  house  of  Diagoras.  He  goes  usually 
alone.  From  the  height  near  the  temple  we  can  watch  well, 
for  the  night  is  clear;  if  he  goes  alone,  we  can  intercept  his 
way  on  his  return.  "  "  To  the  height !  "  cried  the  other.  I 
thought  to  distinguish  the  voices,  but  the  trees  hid  the 
speakers.  I  followed  the  footsteps  toward  the  temple,  for  it 
behooved  me  to  learn  who  thus  menaced  the  chief  of  Greece. 
But  ye  know  that  the  wood  reaches  even  to  the  sacred  build- 
ing, and  the  steps  gained  the  temple  before  I  could  recognize 
the  men.  I  concealed  myself,  as  I  thought,  to  watch  ;  but  it 
seems  that  I  was  perceived,  for  he  who  saw  me,  and  now  ac- 
cuses, was  doubtless  one  of  the  assassins  Happy  I,  if  the 
sight  of  a  witness  scared  him  from  the  crime.  Either  fear- 
ing detection,  or  aware  that  their  intent  that  night  was  frus- 
trated— for  Pansanias,  visiting  Cleonice  earlier  than  his  wont, 
had  already  resought  his  galley — the  men  retreated  as  they 
came,  unseen  not  heard.  I  caught  their  receding  stf^ps 
through  the  brushwood.  Greeks,  I  have  said.  Who  is  my 
accuser  ?  in  him  behold  the  v/ould-be  murderer  of  Pausanias  !  " 

"  Liar  !  "  cried  an  indignant  and  loud  voice  among  the 
captains,  and  Antagoras  stood  forth  from  the  circle. 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  75 

"  It  is  I  who  saw  thee.  Barest  thou  accuse  Antagoras  of 
Chios  ? " 

"  What  at  that  hour  brought  Antagoras  of  Chios  to  the 
Temple  of  Aphrodite  ?  "  retorted  Gongyhis. 

The  eyes  of  the  Greeks  turned  toward  the  young  captain, 
and  there  was  confusion  on  his  face.  But,  recovering  him- 
self quickly,  the  Chian  answered,  "  Why  should  I  blush  to 
own  it  ?  Aphrodite  is  no  dishonorable  deity  to  the  men  of 
the  Ionian  Isles,  I  sought  the  temple  at  that  hour,  as  is  our 
wont,  to  make  my  offering  and  record  my  prayer." 

"Certainly,"  said  Cimon.  "We  must  own  that  Aphro- 
dite is  powerful  at  Byzantium.  Who  can  acquit  Pausanias 
and  blame  Antagoras  !  " 

"  Pardon  me — one  question,"  said  Gonyplus.  "  Is  not 
the  female  heart  which  Antagoras  would  beseech  the  god- 
dess to  soften  toward  him  that  of  the  Cleonice  of  whom  we 
spoke  ?  See,  he  denies  it  not.  Greeks,  the  Chins  are  warm 
lovers,  and  warm  lovers  are  revengeful  rivals." 

This  artful  speech  had  its  instantaneous  effect  among  the 
younger  and  more  unthinking  loiterers.  Those  who  at  once 
would  have  disbelieved  the  imputed  guilt  of  Antagoras  upon 
motives  merely  political,  inclined  to  a  suggestion  that  as- 
cribed it  to  the  jealousy  oiE  a  lover.  And  his  character,  ardent 
and  fiery,  rendered  the  suspicion  yet  more  plausible.  Mean- 
while the  minds  of  the  audience  had  been  craftily  drawn  from 
the  grave  and  main  object  of  the  meeting — the  flight  of  the 
Persians — and  a  lighler  and  livelier  curiosity  had  supplanted 
the  eager  and  dark  resentment  which  had  hitherto  animated 
the  circle.  Pausanias,  with  the  subtle  genius  that  belonged  to 
him,  hastened  to  seize  advantage  of  the  momentary  diversion 
in  his  favor,  and  before  the  Chian  could  recover  from  his 
consternation,  both  at  the  charge  and  the  evident  effect  it  had 
produced  upon  a  part  of  the  assembly,  the  Spartan  stretched 
his  hand,  and  spake, — 

"  Greeks,  Pausanias  listens  to  no  tale  of  danger  to  him- 
self. Willingly  he  believes  that  Gongylus  either  misinter- 
preted the  intent  of  some  jealous  and  heated  threats,  or  thnt 
the  words  he  overheard  were  not  uttered  by  Antagoras.  Pos- 
sible is  it,  too,  that  others  may  have  sought  the  temple  with 
less  gentle  desires  than  our  Chian  ally.  Let  this  pass.  Un- 
worthy such  matters  of  the  councils  of  bearded  men  :  too  much 
reference  has  been  made  to  those  follies  which  our  idleness 
has  given  birth  to.  Let  no  fair  Briseis  renew  strife  among 
chiefs  and  soldiers.  Excuse  not  thyself,  Antagoras  ;  we  dis- 
miss all  charge   against  thee.     On  the  other  hand,  Gongylus 


^6  FAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTA  AT. 

will  doubtless  seem  to  you  to  have  accounted  for  his  a[:pear- 
ance  near  the  precincts  of  the  temple.  And  it  is  but  a  coin- 
cidence, natural  enough,  that  the  Persian  prisoners  should 
have  chosen,  later  in  the  night,  the  same  spot  for  the  steeds 
to  await  them.  The  thickness  of  the  wood  round  the  temple, 
and  the  direction  of  the  place  towards  the  east,  points  out  the 
neighborhood  as  the  very  one  in  which  the  fugitives  would  ap- 
point the  horses.  Waste  no  further  time,  but  provide  at  once 
for  the  pursuit.  To  you,  Cimon,  be  this  case  confided.  Al- 
ready have  I  despatched  fifty  light-armed  men  on  fleet  Thes- 
salian  steeds.  You,  Cimon,  increase  the  number  of  the  pur- 
suers. The  prisoners  may  be  yet  recaptured.  Doth  aught 
else  remain  worthy  of  our  ears  ?  If  so,  speak  ;  if  not  de- 
part." 

"  Pausanias,"  said  Antagoras,  firmly,  "  let  Gongylus  re- 
tract, or  not,  his  charge  against  me,  1  retain  mine  against 
Gongylus.  Wholly  false  is  it  that  in  word  or  deed  I  plotted 
violence  against  thee,  though  of  much — not  as  Cleonice's  lover, 
but  as  Grecian  Captain — I  have  good  reason  to  complain. 
Wholly  false  is  it  that  I  had  a  comrade.  I  was  alone.  And 
coming  out  from  the  temple,  where  I  had  hung  my  chaplet,  I 
perceived  Gongylus  clearly  under  the  starlit  skies.  He  stood 
in  listening  attitude  close  by  the  sacred  myrtle  grove.  I 
hastened  toward  him,  but  methinks  he  saw  me  not ;  he  turned 
slowly,  penetrated  the  wood,  and  vanished.  I  gained  the  spot 
on  the  soft  sward  which  the  dropping  boughs  make  ever  humid. 
I  saw  the  print  of  hoofs.  Within  the  thicket  I  found  the  pearls 
that  Cimon  has  displayed  to  you.  Clear,  then,  is  it  that  this 
man  lies — clear  that  the  Persians  must  have  fled  already — al- 
though Gongylus  declares  that  on  his  return  to  the  citadel  he 
visited  them  in  their  prison.     Explain  this,  Eretrian  !  " 

"  He  who  would  speak  false  witness,"  answered  Gongylus, 
with  a  firmness  equal  to  the  Chian's,  "  can  find  pearls  at 
whatsoever  hour  he  pleases.  Greeks,  this  man  presses  me  to 
renew  the  charge  which  Pausanias  generously  sought  to 
stifle.  I  have  said.  And  I,  Governor  of  Byzantium,  call  on 
the  council  of  the  Grecian  Leaders  to  maintain  my  authority, 
and  protect  their  own  Chief." 

Then  arose  a  vexed  and  perturbed  murmur,  most  of  the 
lonians  siding  with  Antagoras,  such  of  the  allies  as  yet  chmg 
to  the  Dorian  ascendency  grouping  around  Gongylus. 

The  persistence  of  Antagoras  had  made  the  dilemma  of 
no  slight  embarrassment  to  Pausanias.  Something  lofty  in 
his    original    nature    urged   him  to  shrink  from  supporting 


PAUSANTAS,    THE  SPARTA IV.  p 

Gon<n'lus  in  an  accusation  which  he  believed  untrue.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  could  not  abandon  his  accomphce  in  an 
effort,  as  dangerous  as  it  was  crafty,  to  conceal  their  com- 
mon guilt. 

"  Son  of  Miltiades,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  pause,  in  which 
his  dextrous  resolution  was  formed,  "  I  invoke  your  aid  to 
ajDpease  a  contest  in  which  I  foresee  no  result  but  that  of 
schism  among  ourselves.  Antagoras  has  no  witness  to  sup- 
port his  tale,  Gongylus  none  to  support  his  own.  Who  shall 
decide  between  conflicting  testimonies  which  rest  but  on  the 
lips  of  accuser  and  accused  ?  Hereafter,  if  the  matter  be 
deemed  sufficiently  grave,  let  us  refer  the  decision  to  the 
oracle  that  never  errs.  Time  and  chance  meanwhile  may 
favor  us  in  clearing  up  the  darkness  we  cannot  now  penetrate. 
For  you,  Governor  of  Byzantium,  it  behooves  me  to  say  that 
the  escape  of  prisoners  intrusted  to  your  charge  justifies 
vigilance,  if  not  suspicion.  We  shall  consult  at  our  leisure 
whether  or  not  that  course  suffices  to  remove  you  from  the 
government  of  Byzantium.  Heralds,  advance  ;  our  council 
is  dissolved." 

With  these  words  Pausanias  rose,  and  the  majesty  of  his 
bearing,  with  the  unwonted  temper  and  conciliation  of  his 
language,  so  came  in  aid  of  his  high  office,  that  no  man  ven- 
tured a  dissentient  murmur. 

The  conclave  broke  up,  and  not  till  its  memebers  had  gain- 
ed the  outer  air  did  any  signs  of  suspicion  or  dissatisfaction 
evince  themselves  ;  but  then,  gathering  in  groups,  the  loni- 
ans  with  especial  jealousy  discussed  what  had  passed,  and 
with  their  native  shrewdness  ascribed  the  moderation  of 
Pausanias  to  his  desire  to  screen  Gong)'lus  and  avoid  further 
inquisition  into  the  flight  of  the  prisoners.  The  discontented 
looked  round  for  Cimon,  but  the  young  Athenian  had  hastily 
retired  from  the  throng,  and,  after  issuing  orders  to  pursue 
the  fugitives,  sought  Aristides  in  the  house  near  the  quay  in 
which  he  lodged. 

Cimon  related  to  his  friend  what  had  passed  at  the  meet- 
ing, and,  terminating  his  recital,  said, — 

"  Thou  shouldst  have  been  with  us.  With  thee  we  might 
have  ventured  more." 

"  And  if  so,"  returned  the  wise  Athenian,  with  a  smile, 
"  ye  would  have  prospered  less.  Precisely  because  I  would 
not  commit  our  country  to  the  suspicion  of  fomenting  in- 
trigues and  mutiny  to  her  own  advantage,  did  I  abstain  from 
the  assembly,  well  aware  that  Pausanias  would  bring  his 
minion  harmless  from  the  unsupported  accusation  of  Antago 


78 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAN. 


ras.  Thou  hast  acted  with  cool  judgment,  Cimon.  The 
Spartan  is  weaving  the  webs  of  the  Parcae  for  his  own 
feet.  Leave  him  to  weave  on,  undisturbed.  The  hour  in 
which  Athens  shall  assume  the  sovereignty  of  the  seas  is 
drawing  near.  Let  it  come,  like  Jove's  thunder,  in  a  calm 
sky." 


CHAPTER  in. 

Pausanias  did  not  that  night  quit  the  city.  After  the 
meeting,  he  held  a  private  conference  with  the  Spartan 
Equals,  whom  custom  and  the  government  assigned,  in  ap- 
pearance as  his  attendants,  in  reality  as  witnesses,  if  not 
spies,  of  his  conduct.  Though  every  pure  Spartan,  as  com- 
pared with  the  subject  Laconian  population,  was  noble,  the 
republic  acknowledged  two  main  distinctions  in  class — the 
higher,  entitled  Equals,  a  word  which  we  might  not  maptly 
and  more  intelligibly  render  Peers ;  the  lower.  Inferiors. 
These  distinctions,  through  hereditary,  were  not  immutable. 
The  peer  could  be  degraded,  the  inferior  could  become  a 
peer.  To  the  royal  person  in  war  three  peers  were  alotted. 
Those  assigned  to  Pausanias,  of  the  tribe  called  the  Hylleans, 
were  naturally  of  a  rank  and  influence  that  constrained  him  to 
treat  them  with  a  certain  deference,  which  perpetually  chafed 
his  pride  and  confirmed  his  discontent ;  for  these  three  men 
were  precisely  of  the  mould  which  at  heart  he  most  despised. 
Polydorous,  the  first  in  rank — for,  like  Pausanias,  he  boasted 
his  descent  from  Hercules — was  the  personification  of  the 
rudeness  and  bigotry  of  a  Spartan  who  had  never  before  stirred 
from  his  rocky  home,  and  who  disdained  all  that  he  could  not 
comprehend.  Gelon,  the  second,  passed  for  a  very  wise 
man,  for  he  seldom  spoke  but  in  monosyllables  ;  yet,  prob- 
ably, his  words  were  as  numerous  as  his  ideas.  Cleomenes, 
the  third,  was  as  distasteful  to  the  Regent  from  his  merits  as 
the  others  from  their  deficiencies.  He  had  risen  from  the 
grade  of  the  Inferiors  by  his  valor  :  blunt,  homely,  frank, 
sincere,  he  never  disguised  his  displeasure  at  the  manner  of 
Pausanias  ;  though  a  true  Spartan  in  discipline  he  never 
transgressed  the  respect  which  his  chief  commanded  in  time 
of  war. 

Pausanias  knew  that  these  ofiicers  were  in  correspondence 
with  Sparta,  and  he  now  exerted  all  his  powers  to  remove 
from  their  minds  any  suspicion  which  the  disappearance  of 
the  prisoners  might  have  left  in  them. 


PA  USA Nr AS,   THE  SPARTAN.  jg 

In  this  interview  he  displayed  all  those  great  natural 
powers  which,  rightly  trained  and  guided,  might  have  made 
him  not  less  great  in  council  than  in  war.  With  masterly 
precision  he  enlarged  on  the  growing  ambition  of  Athens, 
on  the  disposition  in  her  favor  evinced  by  all  the  Ionian 
confederates.  "  Hitherto,"  he  said  truh^,  "  Sparta  has  uni- 
formly held  rank  as  the  first  state  of  Greece  ;  the  leader- 
shi])  of  the  Greeks  belongs  to  us  by  birth  and  renown.  But 
see  you  not  that  the  war  is  now  shifting  from  land  to  sea } 
Sea  is  not  our  element ;  it  is  that  of  Athens,  of  all  the  Io- 
nian race.  If  this  continue,  we  lose  our  ascendency,  and 
Athens  becomes  the  sovereign  of  Hellas.  Beneath  the  calm 
of  Aristides  I  detect  his  deep  design.  In  vain  Cimon  affects 
the  manner  of  the  Spartan  ;  at  heart  he  is  Athenian.  This 
charge  ag^ainst  Gonsrv'lus  is  aimed  at  me.  Grant  that  the 
plot  which  it  conceals  succeed  ;  grant  that  Sparta  share  the 
affected  suspicions  of  the  lonians,  and  recall  me  from  By- 
zantium ;  deem  you  that  there  lives  one  Spartan  who  could 
delay  for  a  day  the  supremacy  of  Athens  ?  Naught  save 
the  respect  the  Dorian  Greeks  at  least  attach  to  the  General 
at  PIat;^a  could  restrain  the  secret  ambition  of  the  city 
of  the  demagogues.  Deem  not  that  I  hav'e  been  as  rash 
and  vain  as  some  hold  me  for  the  stern  visage  I  have  shown 
to  the  lonians.  Trust  me  that  it  was  necessary  to  awe 
them,  with  a  view  to  maintain  our  majesty.  For  Sparta  to 
preserve  her  ascendency  two  things  are  needful  :  first,  to 
continue  the  war  by  land  ;  secondly,  to  disgust  the  lonians 
with  their  sojourn  here,  send  them  with  their  ships  to  their 
own  havens,  and  so  leave  Hellas  under  the  sole  guardian- 
ship of  ourselves  and  our  Peloponnesian  allies.  Therefore 
I  say,  bear  with  me  in  this  double  design ;  chide  me  not 
if  my  haughty  manner  disperse  these  subtle  lonians.  If  I 
bore  with  them  to-day,  it  was  less  from  respect  than,  shall 
I  say  it,  my  fear  lest  you  should  misinterpret  me.  Beware 
how  you  detail  to  Sparta  whatever  might  rouse  the  jealousy 
of  her  government.  Trust  to  me,  and  I  will  extend  the  do- 
minion of  Sparta  till  it  grasp  the  whole  of  Greece.  We 
will  depose  everj^vhere  the  revolutionar)-  Demos,  and  estab- 
lish our  own  oligarchies  in  every  Grecian  state.  We  will 
Laconize  all  Hellas." 

Much  of  what  Pausanias  said  was  wise  and  profound. 
Such  statesmanship,  narrow  and  congenial,  but  vigorous 
and  crafty,  Sparta  taught  in  later  years  to  her  alert  politi- 
cians. And  we  have  already  seen  that,  despite  the  dazzling 
prospects  of  Oriental  dominion,  he  as  yet  had  separated  him- 


8o  PA  us  AN! AS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

self  rather  from  the  laws  than  the  interests  of  Sparta,  and 
still  incorporated  his  own  ambition  with  the  extension  of  the 
sovereignity  of  his  country  over  the  rest  of  Greece. 

But  the  Peers  heard  him  in  dull  and  gloomy  silence  ;  and 
not  till  he  had  paused  and  thrice  asked  for  a  reply  did  Poly- 
dorus  speak. 

"  You  would  increase  the  dominion  of  Sparta,  Pausanias. 
Increase  of  dominion  is  waste  of  life  and  treasure.  We 
have  few  men,  little  gold ;  Sparta  is  content  to  hold  her 
own." 

"  Good,"  said  Gelon,  with  impassive  countenance.  "  What 
care  we  who  leads  the  Greeks  into  blows .-'  The  fewer 
blows  the  better.  Brave  men  fight  if  they  must ;  wise  men 
never  fight  if  they  can  help  it." 

"  And  such  is  your  counsel,  Cleomenes  ?  "  asked  Pausani- 
as, with  a  quivering  lip. 

"  Not  from  the  same  reasons,"  answered  the  nobler  and 
more  generous  Spartan.  "  I  presume  not  to  question  your 
motives,  Pausanias.  I  leave  you  to  explain  them  to  the 
Ephors  and  the  Gerusia.  But  since  you  press  me,  this  I 
say.  First,  all  the  Greeks,  Ionian  as  well  as  Dorian,  fought 
equally  against  the  Mede,  and  from  the  commander  of  the 
Greeks  all  should  receive  fellowship  and  courtesy.  Sec- 
ondly, I  say  if  Athens  is  better  fitted  than  Sparta  for  the 
maritime  ascendency,  let  Athens  rule,  so  that  Hellas  be 
saved  from  the  Mede.  Thirdly,  O  Pausanias,  I  pray  that 
Sparta  may  rest  satisfied  with  her  own  institutions,  and  not 
disturb  the  peace  of  Greece  by  forcing  them  upon  other 
states,  and  thereby  enslaving  Hellas.  What  more  could  the 
Persian  do  ?  Finally,  my  advice  is  to  suspend  Gongylus 
from  his  office,  to  conciliate  the  lonians,  to  remain  as  a 
Grecian  armament  firm  and  united,  and  so  procure,  on  better 
terms,  peace  with  Persia.  And  then  let  each  state  retire 
within  itself,  and  none  aspire  to  rule  the  other.  A  thousard 
free  cities  are  better  guard  against  the  Barbarian  than  a 
single  state  made  up  of  republics  overthrown  and  resting  its 
strength  upon  hearts  enslaved." 

"  Do  you  too,"  said  Pausanias,  gnawing  his  nether  lip, 
"  do  you  too,  Polydorus ;  you  too,  Gelon,  agree  with  Cle- 
omenes, that,  if  Athens  is  better  fitted  than  Sparta  for  the 
sovereignty  of  the  seas,  we  should  yield  to  that  restless  pval 
so  perilous  a  power  ?  " 

"  Ships  cost  gold,"  said  Polydorus ;  "  Spartans  have  none 


/'AOSAA^/A.S,    TirE  SPARTAN'.  8l 

to  spare.  Mariners  require  skilful  captains  ;  Spartans  know 
nothing  of  the  sea." 

*'  Moreover,''  quoth  Gelon,  "  the  ocean  is  a  terrible  ele- 
ment. What  can  valor  do  against  a  storm  ?  We  may  lose 
more  men  by  adverse  weather  than  a  centurv'  can  repair. 
Let  who  will  have  the  seas.  Sparta  has  her  rocks  and  de- 
files. 

"  Men  and  Peers,"  said  Pausanias,  ill  repressing  his  scorn, 
"  ye  little  dream  what  anns  ye  place  in  the  hands  of  the 
Athenians.  I  have  done.  Take  only  this  prophecy  :  You 
are  now  the  head  of  Greece.  You  surrender  your  sceptre  to 
Athens,  and  become  a  second-rate  power." 

"  Never  second-rate  when  Greece  shall  demand  armed 
men,"  said  Cleomenes,  proudly. 

"  Armed  men,  armed  men  !  "  cried  the  more  profound 
Pausanias.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  commerce — that  trade 
— that  maritime  energy — that  fleets  which  ransack  the  shores 
of  the  world,  will  not  obtain  a  power  greater  than  mere  brute- 
like valor  ?     But  as  ye  will,  as  ye  will." 

"  As  we  speak,  our  forefathers  thought,"  said  Gelon. 

"  And,  Pausanias,"  said  Cleomenes,  gravely,  "  as  we 
speak,  so  think  the  Ephors." 

Pausanias  fixed  his  dark  eye  on  Cleomenes,  and,  after  a 
brief  pause,  saluted  the  Equals  and  withdrew.  "  Sparta,"  he 
muttered,  as  he  regained  his  chamber,  "  Sparta  thou  refuscst 
to  be  great ;  but  greatness  is  necessary  to  thy  son.  Ah,  their 
iron  laws  wo^ild  constrain  my  soul !  but  it  shall  wear  them  as 
a  warrior  wears  his  annor  and  adapts  it  to  his  body.  Thou 
shalt  be  queen  of  all  Hellas,  despite  thyself,  thine  Ephors, 
and  thy  laws.     Then  only  will  I  forgive  thee." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DiAGORAS  was  sitting  outside  his  door  and  giving  various 
instructions  to  the  slaves  employed  on  his  farm,  when,  through 
an  arcade  thickly  covered  with  the  vine,  the  light  form  of 
Antagoras  came  slowly  in  sight. 

"Hail  to  thee,  Diagoras  !  "  said  the  Chian  ;  "thou  art 
the  only  wise  man  I  meet  with.  Thou  art  tranquil  while  all 
else  are  disturbed  ;  and,  worshipping  the  great  Mother,  thou 
carest  naught,  methinks,  for  the  Persian  who  invades  or  the 
Spartan  who  professes  to  defend." 


8a  PAUSAMTAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"Tut!"  said  Diagoras,  in  a  whisper;  "thou  knowest 
the  contrary :  thou  knowest  that  if  the  Persian  comes,  I  am 
ruined ;  and,  by  the  gods,  I  am  on  a  bed  of  thorns  as  long 
as  the  Spartan  sljays." 

"  Dismiss  thy  slaves,"  exclaimed  Antagoras,  in  the  same 
undertone  ;  "  I  would  speak  with  thee  on  grave  matters  that 
concern  us  both." 

After  hastily  finishing  his  instructions  and  dismissing  his 
slaves,  Diagoras  turned  to  the  impatient  Chian,  and  said, — 

"  Now,  young  warrior,  I  am  all  ears  for  thy  speech." 

"  Truly,"  said  Antagoras,  "  if  thou  wert  aware  of  what  I 
am  about  to  utter,  thou  wouldst  not  have  postponed  con- 
sideration for  thy  daughter  to  thy  care  for  a  few  jars  of 
beggarly  olives." 

"  Hem  !  "  said  Diagoras,  peevishly.  "  Olives  are  not  to 
be  despised  :  oil  to  the  limbs  makes  them  supple  ;  to  the 
stomach  it  gives  gladness.  Oil,  moreover,  bringeth  money, 
when. sold.  But  a  daughter  is  the  plague  of  a  man's  life. 
First,  one  has  to  keep  away  lovers  ;  and,  next,  to  find  a 
husband  ;  aiid  when  all  is  done,  one  has  to  put  one's  hand  in 
one's  chest  and  pay  a  tall  fellow  like  thee  for  robbing  one  of 
one's  own  child.  That  custom  of  dowries  is  abominable.  In 
the  good  old  times  a  bridegroom,  as  was  meet  and  proper, 
paid  for  his  bride  ;  now  we  poor  fathers  pay  him  for  taking 
her.  Well,  well,  never  bite  thy  forefinger,  and  curl  up  thy 
brows.     What  thou  hast  to  say,  say." 

"  Diagoras,  I  know  that  thy  heart  is  better  than  thy 
speech,  and  that,  much  as  thou  covetest  money,  thou  lovest 
thy  child  more.  Know,  then,  that  Pausanias — a  curse  light 
on  hini ! — brings  shame  upon  Cleonice.  Know  that  already 
her  name  hath  grown  the  talk  of  the  camp.  Know  that  his 
visit  to  her  the  night  before  last  was  proclaimed  in  the 
Council  of  the  Captains  ^s  a  theme  for  jest  and  rude 
laughter.  By  the  head  of  Zeus,  how  thinkest  thou  to  profit 
by  the  stealthy  wooings  of  this  black-browed  Spartan  ? 
Knowest  thou  not  that  his  laws  forbid  him  to  marrv  Cleonice  ? 
Wouldest  thou  have  him  dishonor  her  ?  Speak  out  to  him 
as  thou  speakest  to  men,  and  tell  him  that  the  maidens  of 
Byzantium  are  not  in  the  control  of  the  General  of  the 
Greeks." 

"Youth,  youth,"  cried  Diagoras,  greatly  agitated, 
**  wouldst  thou  bring  my  gray  hairs  to  a  bloody  grave  ? 
Wouldst  thou  see  my  daughter  reft  from  me  by  force,  and — " 

"How  darest  thou  speak  thus,   old  man.?"  interrupted 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  8^ 

the  indignant  Chian.  "  If  Pausanias  wronged  a  virgin,  all 
Hellas  would  rise  against  him." 

"  Yes,  but  not  till  the  ill  were  done,  till  my  throat  w^ere 
cut,  and  my  child  dishonored.  Listen.  At  first,  indeed, 
when,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  Pausanias,  lodging  a  few 
days  under  my  roof,  saw  and  admired  Cleonice,  I  did  ven- 
ture to  remonstate  ;  and  how  think  you  he  took  it  ?  '  Never,' 
quoth  he,  with  his  stern,  quivering  lip,  '  never  did  conquest 
forego  its  best  right  to  the  smiles  of  beauty.  The  legends 
of  Hercules,  my  ancestor,  tell  thee  that  to  him  who  labors 
for  men,  the  gods  grant  the  love  of  women.  Fear  not  that 
I  should  wrong  thy  daughter;  to  woo  her  is  not  to  wrong. 
But  close  thy  door  on  me  ;  immure  Cleonice  from  my  sight ; 
and  nor  armed  slaves,  nor  bolts,  nor  bars  shall  keep  love 
from  the  loved  one.'  Therewith  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
left  me.  But  the  next  day  came  a  Lydian  in  his  train,  with 
a  goodly  pannier  of  rich  stuffs  and  a  short  Spartan  sword. 
On  the  pannier  was  written  '  Frkndship ; '  on  the  sword, 
'  Wrath  ; '  and  Alcman  gave  me  a  scrap  of  parchment,  where- 
on, with  the  cursed  brief  wit  of  a  Spartan,  was  inscribed 
*  Choose ! '  Who  could  doubt  which  to  take  .''  who,  by  the 
gods,  would  prefer  three  inches  of  Spartan  iron  in  his  stomach 
to  a  basketful  of  rich  stuffs  for  his  shoulders  ?  Wherefore, 
from  that  hour,  Pausanias  comes  as  he  lists.  But  Cleonice 
humors  him  not,  let  tongues  wag  as  they  may.  Easier  to 
take  three  cities  than  that  child's  heart." 

"  Is  it  so,  indeed  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Chian,  joyfully.  "  Cleo- 
nice loves  him  not  ?  " 

"  Laughs  at  him  to  his  beard  ;  that  is,  would  laugh  if  he 
wore  one." 

"  O  Diagoras  !  "  cried  Antagoras,  "  hear  me,  hear  me.  I 
need  not  remind  thee  that  our  families  are  united  by  the 
hospitable  ties  ;  that  among  thy  treasures  thou  wilt  find 
the  gifts  of  my  ancestors  for  five  generations  ;  that  when,  a 
year  since,  my  affairs  brought  me  to  Byzantium,  I  came  to 
thee  with  the  symbols  of  my  right  to  claim  thy  hospitable 
cares.  On  leaving  thee,  we  broke  the  sacred  die.  I  have 
one  half,  thou  the  other.  In  that  visit  I  saw  and  loved 
Cleonice.  Fain  would  I  have  told  my  love,  but  then  my 
father  lived,  and  I  feared  lest  he  should  oppose  my  suit ; 
therefore  as  became  me,  I  was  silent.  On  my  return  home, 
my  fears  were  confirmed ;  my  father  desired  that  I,  a 
Chian,  should  wed  a  Chian.  Since  I  have  been  with  the 
fleetj  news  has  reached  me  that  the  urn  holds  my  father's 


84  PA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTA.V. 

ashes."  Here  the  young  Chian  paused.  "  Alas  !  alas  !  "  he 
murmured,  smiting  his  breast,  "  and  I  was  not  at  hand  to 
fix  over  thy  doors  the  sacred  branch,  to  give  thee  the  part- 
mg  kiss,  and  receive  into  my  lips  thy  latest  breath  !  May 
Hermes,  O  father,  have  led  thee  to  pleasant  groves  !  " 

Diagoras,  who  had  listened  attentively  to  the  young 
Chian,  was  touched  by  his  grief,  and  said,  pityingly, — 

"  I  know  thou  art  a  good  son,  and  thy  father  was  a 
worthy  man,  though  harsh.  It  is  a  comfort  to  think  that 
all  does  not  die  with  the  dead.  His  money  at  least  survives 
him." 

"  But,"  resumed  Antagoras,  not  heeding  this  consolation 
— "  but  now  I  am  free  ;  and  ere  this,  so  soon  as  my  mourn- 
ing garment  had  been  laid  aside,  I  had  asked  thee  to  bless 
me  with  Cleonice,  but  that  I  feared  her  love  was  gone — ■ 
gone  to  the  haughty  Spartan.  Thou  re-assurest  me ;  and, 
in  so  doing,  thou  confirmest  the  fair  omens  with  which 
Aphrodite  has  received  my  offerings.  Therefore,  I  speak 
out.  No  dowry  ask  I  with  Cleonice,  save  such,  more  in 
name  than  amount,  as  may  distinguish  the  wife  from  the 
concubine,  and  assure  her  an  honored  place  among  my  kins- 
men. Thou  knowest  I  am  rich ;  thou  knowest  that  my 
birth  dates  from  the  oldest  citizens  of  Chios.  Give  me  thy 
child,  and  deliver  her  thyself  at  once  from  the  Spartan's 
power.  Once  mine,  all  the  fleets  of  Hellas  are  her  protec- 
tion, and  our  marriage-torches  are  the  swords  of  a  Grecian 
army.  O  Diagoras,  I  clasp  thy  knees  ;  put  thy  right  hand 
in  mine.     Give  me  thy  child  as  wife  !  " 

The  Byzantine  was  strongly  affected.  The  suitor  was 
one  who,  in  birth  and  possessions,  was  all  that  he  could 
desire  for  his  daughter ;  and  at  Byzantiura  there  did  not 
exist  that  feeling  against  intermarriages  with  the  foreigner 
which  prevailed  in  towns  more  purely  Greek,  though  in 
many  of  them,  too,  that  antique  prejudice  had  worn  away. 
On  the  other  hand,  by  transferring  to  Antagoras  his  anxious 
charge,  he  felt  that  he  should  take  the  best  course  to  pre- 
serve it  untarnished  from  the  fierce  love  of  Pausanias,  and 
there  was  truth  in  the  Chian's  suggestion.  The  daughter 
of  a  Byzantine  might  be  unprotected  ;  the  wife  of  an  Ionian 
captain  was  safe,  even  from  the  power  of  Pausanias.  As 
these  reflections  occurred  to  him,  he  placed  his  right  hand 
in  the  Chian's,  and  said, — 

"  Be  it  as  thou  wilt ;  I  consent  to  betroth  thee  to  Cleo 
nice.     Follovi  me  ;  thou  art  free  to  woo  her." 


PA  USA  A'/ AS,    THE  SPARTAN. 


85 


So  saying,  he  rose,  and,  as  if  in  fear  of  his  own  second 
thoughts,  he  traversed  the  hall  with  hasty  strides  to  the  in- 
terior of  the  mansion.  He  ascended  a  flight  of  steps,  and, 
drawing  aside  a  curtain  suspended  between  two  columns,  An- 
tagoras,  who  followed  timidly  behind,  beheld  Cleonice. 

As  was  the  wont  in  the  domestic  life  of  all  Grecian 
states,  her  handmaids  were  around  the  noble  virgin.  Two 
were  engaged  on  embroider}^,  one  in  spinning,  a  fourth  was 
reading  aloud  to  Cleonice,  and  that  at  least  was  a  rare  di- 
version to  women,  for  few  had  the  education  of  the  fair 
Byzantine.  Cleonice  herself  was  half  reclined  upon  a  bench 
inlaid  with  ivory  and  covered  with  cushions ;  before  her 
stood  a  small  tripod  table  on  which  she  leaned  the  arm  the 
hand  of  which  supported  her  cheek,  and  she  seemed  listen- 
mg  to  the  lecture  of  the  slave  with  earnest  and  absorbed 
attention,  so  earnest,  so  absorbed,  that  she  did  not  for  some 
moments  perceive  the  entrance  of  Diagoras  and  the  Chian. 

"  Child,"  said  the  former — and  Cleonice  started  to  her 
feet,  and  stood  modestly  before  her  father,  her  eyes  down- 
cast, her  arms  crossed  upon  her  bosom — "  child,  I  bid  thee 
welcome  my  guest-friend,  Antagoras  of  Chois.  Slaves,  ye 
may  withdraw," 

Cleonice  bowed  her  head ;  and  an  unquiet,  anxious 
change  came  over  her  countenance. 

As  soon  as  the  slaves  were  gone,  Diagoras  resumed, — 
"  Daughter,  I  present  to  thee  a  suitor  for  thy  hand. 
Receive  him  as  I  have  done,  and  he  shall  have  mv  leave 
to  carve  thy  name  on  every  tree  in  the  garden,  with  the 
lover's  epithet  of  '  Beautiful '  attached  to  it.  Antagoras, 
look  up,  then,  and  speak  for  thyself." 

But  Antagoras  was  silent ;  and  a  fear  unknown  to  his 
frank,  hardy  nature  came  over  him.  With  an  arch  smile, 
Diagoras,  deeming  his  presence  no  longer  necessary  or  ex- 
pedient, lifted  the  curtain,  and  lover  and  maid  were  left 
alone. 

Then,  with  an  effort,  and  still  with  hesitating  accents,  the 
Chian  spoke, — 

"  Fair  virgin,  not  in  the  groves  of  Byzantium  will  thy 
name  be  first  written  by  the  hand  of  Antagoras^  In  my 
native  Chios  the  myrtle-trees  are  already  eloquent  of  thee. 
Since  I  first  saw  thee,  I  loved.  Maiden,  wilt  thou  be  my 
wife  ?  " 

Thrice  moved  the  lips  of  Cleonice,  and  thrice  her  voice 
seemed  to  fail  her.     At  length  she  said,  "  Chian,  thou  art  a 


86  PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTA iV. 

Stranger,  and  the  laws  of  the   Grecian  cities  dishonor  the 
stranger  whom  the  free  citizen  stoops  to  marry." 

"  Nay,"  cried  Antagoras,  "  such  cruel  laws  are  obsolete  in 
Chios.  Nature  and  custom,  and  love's  almighty  goddess, 
long  since  have  set  them  aside.  Fear  not,  the  haughtiest 
matron  of  my  native  state  will  not  be  more  honored  than 
the  Byzantium  bride  of  Antagoras." 

"  Is  it  in  Sparta  only  that  such  laws  exist  .-•  "  said  Cleo 
nice,  half  unconsciously,  and  to  the  sigh  with  which  she  spoke 
a  deep  blush  succeeded. 

"  Sparta  !  "  exclaimed  Antagoras,  with  a  fierce  and  jealous 
pang — "  ah,  are  thy  thoughts,  then,  upon  the  son  of  Sparta  } 
Were  Pausanias  a  Chian,  wouldst  thou  turn  from  him  scorn- 
fully as  thou  now  dost  from  me  ?  " 

"  Not  scornfully,  Antagoras,"  answered  Cleonice  (who 
had  indeed  averted  her  face  at  his  reproachful  question  ;  but 
now  turned  it  full  upon  him,  with  an  expression  of  sad  and 
pathetic  sweetness),  "  not  scornfully  do  I  turn  from  thee, 
though  with  pain  ;  for  what  worthier  homage  canst  thou  ren- 
der to  woman  than  honorable  love  ?  Gratefully  do  I  hearken 
to  the  suit  that  comes  from  thee  ;  but  gratitude  is  not  the 
return  thou  wouldst  ask,  Antagoras.  My  hand  is  my  father's  ; 
my  heart,  alas  !  is  mine.  Thou  mayst  claim  from  him  the 
one  ;  the  other,  neither  he  can  give,  nor  thou  receive." 

"  Say  not  so,  Cleonice,"  cried  the  Chian  ;  "  say  not  that 
thou  canst  not  love  me,  if  so  I  am  to  interpret  thy  words. 
Love  brings  love  with  the  young.  How  canst  thou  yet  know 
thine  own  heart .''  Tarry  till  thou  hast  listened  to  mine.  As 
the  fire  on  the  altar  spreads  from  offering  to  offering,  so 
sj^reads  love  ;  its  flame  envelops  all  that  are  near  to  it.  Thy 
heart  will  catch  the  heavenly  spark  from  mine." 

"  Chian,"  said  Cleonice,  gently  withdrawing  the  hand 
that  he  sought  to  clasp,  "  when  as  my  father's  guest-friend 
thou  wert  a  sojourner  within  these  walls,  oft  have  I  heard 
thee  speak,  and  all  thy  words  spoke  the  thoughts  of  a  noble 
soul.  Were  it  otherwise,  not  thus  would  I  now  address  thee. 
Didst  thou  love  gold,  and  woed  in  me  but  the  child  of  the 
rich  Diagoras,  or  wert  thou  one  of  those  who  vould  treat  for 
a  wife,  as  a  trader  for  a  slave,  invoking  Here,  but  disdaining 
Aphrodite,  I  should  bow  my  head  to  my  doom.  But  thou, 
Antagoras,  askest  love  for  love ;  this  I  cannot  give  thee. 
Spare  me,  O  generous  Chian.  Let  not  my  father  enforce  his 
right  to  my  obedience," 

"  Answer  me  but  one  question,"  interrupted  Antagoras  in 


PAVSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  87 

a  low  voice,  though  with  compressed  lips,  "  dost  thou,  then, 
love  another  ?  " 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  virgin's  cheeks  ;  it  suffused  her 
brow,  her  neck,  with  burning  blushes,  and  then,  receding, 
left  her  face  colorless  as  a  statue.  Then  with  tones  low  and 
constrained  as  his  own,  she  pressed  her  hand  on  her  heart, 
and  replied,  "  Thou  sayest  it ;  I  love  another." 

"  And  that  other  is  Pausanias  .-'  Alas  !  thy  silence,  thy 
trembling,  answer  me." 

Antagoras  groaned  aloud,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  ;  but  after  a  short  pause  he  exclaimed,  with  great  emo- 
tion, "  No,  no — say  not  that  thou  lovest  Pausanias  ;  say  not 
that  Aphrodite  hath  so  accursed  thee  ;  for  to  love  Pausanias 
is  to  love  dishonor." 

"  Hold,  Chian  !  Not  so  ;  for  my  love  has  no  hope.  Our 
hearts  are  not  our  own,  but  our  actions  are." 

Antagoras  gazed  on  her  with  suspense  and  awe  ;  for  as 
she  spoke  her  slight  form  dilated,  her  lip  curled,  her  cheek 
glowed  again,  but  with  the  blush  less  of  love  than  of  pride. 
In  her  countenance,  her  attitude,  there  was  something  divine 
and  holy,  such  as  would  have  beseemed  a  priestess  of  Diana. 

"  Yes,"  she  resimied,  raising  her  eyes,  and  with  a  still  and 
mournful  sweetness  in  her  upraised  features.  "  What  I  love 
is  not  Pausanias,  it  is  the  glory  of  which  he  is  the  symbol,  it 
is  the  Greece  of  which  he  has  been  the  saviour.  Let  him 
depart,  as  soon  he  must — let  these  eyes  behold  him  no  more ; 
still  there  exists  for  me  all  that  exists  now — a  name,  a  re- 
nown, a  dream.  Never  for  me  may  the  nuptial  hymn  re- 
sound, or  the  marriage-torch  be  illumined.  O  goddess  of  the 
silver  bow,  O  chaste  and  venerable  Artemis,  receive,  protect 
thy  sei-vant  !  and  ye,  O  funereal  gods,  lead  me  soon,  lead  the 
virgin  unreluctant  to  the  shades  !  " 

A  superstitious  fear,  a  dread  as  il  his  earthly  love  would 
violate  something  sacred,  chilled  the  ardor  of  the  young 
Chian  ;  and  for  several  moments  both  were  silent. 

At  length,  Antagoras,  kissing  the  hem  of  her  robe,  said  : 

'■'  Maiden  of  Byzantium,  like  thee,  then,  I  will  love,  though 
without  hope.  I  will  not,  I  dare  not,  profane  thy  presence 
by  prayers  which  pain  thee,  and  seem  to  me,  having  heard 
thee,  almost  guilty,  as  if  proffered  to  some  nymph  circling  in 
choral  dance  the  moonlit  mountain-tops  of  Delos,  But  ere  I 
depart,  and  tell  thy  father  that  my  suit  is  over,  oh,  place  at 
least  thy  right  hand  in  mine,  and  swear  to  me,  not  the  bride's 
vow  of  faith  and  troth,  but  that  vow  which  a  virgin  sister  niaj 


88  PAUSAA'/AS,    THE  SPARTAN. 

pledge  to  a  brother,  mindful  to  protect  and  to  avenge  her. 
Swear  to  me,  that  if  this  haughty  Spartan,  contemning  alike 
men,  laws,  and  the  household  gods,  should  seek  to  constrain 
thy  purity  to  his  will ;  if  thou  shouldst  have  cause  to  tremble 
at  power  and  force  ;  and  fierce  desire  should  command  what 
gentle  love  would  but  reverently  implore — then,  Cleonice, 
seeing  how  little  thy  father  can  defend  thee,  wilt  thou  re- 
member Antagoras,  and  through  him  summon  around  thee  all 
the  majesty  of  Hellas  ?  Grant  me  but  this  prayer,  and  I 
leave  thee,  if  in  sorrow,  yet  not  with  terror," 

"  Generous  and  noble  Chian,"  returned  Cleonice,  as  her 
tears  fell  upon  the  hand  he  extended  to  her,  "  why,  why  do  I 
so  ill  repay  thee  ?  Thy  love  is  indeed  that  which  ennobles 
the  heart  that  yields  it,  and  her  who  shall  one  day  recom- 
pense thee  for  the  loss  of  me.  Fear  not  the  power  of  Pau- 
sanias  :  dream  not  that  I  shall  need  a  defender,  while  above 
us  reign  the  gods,  and  below  us  lies  the  grave.  Yet,  to  ap- 
pease thee,  take  my  right  hand,  and  hear  my  oath  :  If  the 
hour  comes  when  I  have  need  of  man's  honor  against  man's 
wrong,  I  will  call  on  Antagoras  as  a  brother." 

Their  hands  closed  in  each  other  ;  and,  not  trusting  him- 
self to  speech,  Antagoras  turned  away  his  face  and  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  V. 


For  some  days,  an  appearance,  at  least,  of  harmony 
was  restored  to  the  contending  factions  in  the  Byzantine 
camp. 

Pausanias  did  not  dismiss  Gongylus  from  the  government 
of  the  city  ;  but  he  sent,  one,  by  one,  for  the  more  important 
of  the  Ionian  complainants,  listened  to  their  grievances 
and  promised  redress.  He  adopted  a  more  popular  and 
gracious  demeanor,  and  seemed,  with  a  noble  grace,  to  sul> 
mit  to  the  policy  of  conciliating  the  allies. 

But  discontent  arose  from  causes  beyond  his  power,  had 
lie  genuinely  exerted  it,  to  remove.  For  it  was  a  discon- 
tent that  lay  in  the  hostility  of  race  to  race.  Though  the 
Spartan  Equals  had  preached  courtesy  to  the  lonians,  the 
ordinary  manner  of   the    Spartan   warriors   was    invariably 


PAUSAXTAS,    THE  SPARTAX.  89 

offeiisive  to  the  vain  and  susceptible  confederates  of  a  more 
polished  race.  A  Spartan,  wherever  he  might  be  placed, 
unconsciously  assumed  superiority.  The  levity  of  an  Ionian 
was  ever  displeasing  to  him.  Out  of  the  actual  battle-field, 
tbey  could  have  no  topics  in  common,  none  which  did  not 
provoke  irritation  and  dispute.  On  the  other  hand,  most 
of  the  lonians  could  ill  conceal  their  disaffection,  mnigled 
with  something  of  just  contempt  at  the  notorious  and  con- 
fessed incapacity  of  the  Spartans  for  maritime  affairs,  while 
a  Spartan  was  yet  the  commander  of  the  fleet.  And  many 
of  them,  wearied  with  inaction  and  anxious  to  return  home, 
were  willing  to  seize  any  reasonable  pretext  for  desertion. 
In  this  last  motive  lay  the  real  strength  and  safety  of  Pau- 
sanias.  And  to  this  end  his  previous  policy  of  arrogance 
was  not  so  idle  as  it  had  seemed  to  the  Greeks,  and  appears 
still  in  the  page  of  history.  For  a  Spartan  really  anxious 
to  preserve  the  pre-eminence  of  his  country,  and  to  prevent 
the  sceptre  of  the  seas  passing  to  Athens,  could  have  de- 
vised no  plan  of  action  more  sagacious  and  profound  than 
one  which  would  disperse  the  lonians,  and  the  Athenians  them- 
selves, and  reduce  the  operations  of  the  Grecian  force  to 
that  land  warfare  in  which  the  Spartan  pre-eminence  was 
equally  indisputable  and  undisputed.  And  still  Pausanias, 
even  in  his  change  of  manner,  plotted  and  intrigued  and  hoped 
for  this  end.  Could  he  once  sever  from  the  encampment  the 
Athenians  and  the  Ionian  allies,  and  yet  remain  with  his  own 
force  at  Byzantium  until  the  Persian  army  could  collect  on  the 
Phr)'gian  frontier,  the  way  seemed  clear  to  his  ambition.  Un- 
der ordinary  circumstances,  in  this  object  he  might  easily  have 
succeeded.  But  it  chanced  that  all  his  schemes  were  met  with 
invincible  mistrust  by  those  in  whose  interest  they  were  con- 
ceived, and  on  whose  co-operation  they  depended  for  suc- 
cess. The  means  adopted  by  Pausanias  in  pursuit  of  his 
policy  were  too  distasteful  to  the  national  prejudices  of  the 
Spartan  govenment,  to  enable  him  to  elicit  from  the  national 
ambition  of  that  government  sufftcient  sympathy  with  the  ob- 
ject of  it.  The  more  he  felt  himself  uncomprehended  and  mis- 
trusted by  his  countrymen,  the  more  personal  became  the 
character,  and  the  more  unscrupulous  the  course,  of  his  ambi- 
tion. Unhappily  for  Pausanias,  moreover,  the  circumstances 
which  chafed  his  pride  also  thwarted  the  satisfaction  of  his 
affections  ;  and  his  criminal  ambition  was  stimulated  by  that 
less  guilty  passion  which  shared  with  it  the  mastery  of  a 
singularly  turbulent  and  impetuous  soul.     Not  his  the  love 


90 


PAUSAiXIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 


of  sleek,  gallant,  and  wanton  youth :  it  was  the  love  of  man 
in  his  mature  years,  but  of  man  to  whom  love  till  then  had 
been  unknown.  In  that  large  and  dark  and  stormy  nature, 
all  passions,  once  admitted,  took  the  growth  of  Titans.  He 
loved  as  those  long  lonely  at  heart  alone  can  love  ;  he  loved 
as  love  the  unhappy  when  the  unfamiliar  bliss  of  the  sweet 
human  emotion  descends  like  dew  upon  the  desert.  To  him 
Cleonice  was  a  creature  wholly  out  of  the  range  of  expe- 
rience. Differing  in  every  shade  of  her  versatile  humor  from 
the  only  women  he  had  known — the  simple,  sturdy,  unedu- 
cated maids  and  matrons  of  Sparta — her  softness  enthralled 
him,  her  anger  awed.  In  his  dreams  of  future  power,  of  an 
absolute  throne  and  unlimited  dominion,  Pausanias  beheld 
the  fair  Byzantine  crowned,  by  his  side.  Fiercely  as  he  loved, 
and  little  as  the  sentiment  of  love  mingled  with  his  passion,  he 
yet  thought  not  to  dishonor  a  victim,  but  to  elevate  a  bride. 
What  though  the  laws  of  Sparta  were  against  such  nuptials, 
was  not  the  hour  approaching  when  these  laws  should  be 
trampled  under  his  armed  heel  ?  Since  the  contract  with 
the  Persians,  which  Gonglylus  assured  him  Xerxes  would 
joyously  and  promptly  fulfil,  Pausanias  already  felt,  in  a  soul 
whose  arrogance  arose  from  jhe  consciousness  of  powers  that 
had  not  yet  found  their  field,  as  if  he  were  not  the  subject 
of  Sparta,  but  her  lord  and  king.  In  his  interviews  with 
Cleonice,  his  language  took  a  tone  of  promise  and  of  hope 
that  at  times  lulled  her  fears,  and  communicated  its  sanguine 
colorings  of  the  future  to  her  own  dreams.  With  the  elas- 
ticity of  youth  her  spirits  rose  from  the  solemn  despondency 
with  which  she  had  replied  to  the  reproaches  of  Antagoras. 
For  though  Pausanias  spoke  not  openly  of  his  schemes, 
though  his  words  were  mysterious,  and  his  replies  to  her 
questions  ambiguous  and  equivocal,  still  it  seemed  to  her, 
seeing  in  him  the  hero  of  all  Hellas,  so  natural  that  he  could 
make  the  laws  of  Sparta  yield  to  the  weight  of  his  authority, 
or  relax  in  homage  to  his  renown,  that  she  indulged  the  be- 
lief that  his  influence  would  set  aside  the  iron  customs  of  his 
country.  Was  it  too  extravagant  a  reward  to  the  conqueror 
of  the  Mede  to  suffer  him  to  select  at  least  the  partner  of  his 
hearth  ?  No,  Hope  was  not  dead  in  that  young  breast.  Still 
might  she  be  the  bride  of  him  whose  glory  had  dazzled  her 
noble  and  sensitive  nature,  till  the  faults  that  darkened  it 
were  lost  in  the  blaze.  Thus,  insensibly  to  herself,  her  tones 
became  softer  to  her  stern  lover,  and  her  heart  betrayed  it- 
self more  in  her  gentle  looks.     Yet  again  were  there  times 


PA  USA  NIAS,  THE  SPA  RTAN.  91 

when  doubt  and  alarm  returned  with  more  than  their  ear- 
lier force — times  when,  wrapped  in  his  lurid  and  absorbing 
ambition,  Pausanias  escaped  from  his  usual  suppressed  re- 
serve— times  when  she  recalled  that  night  in  which  she  had 
witnessed  his  interview  with  the  strangers  of  the  East,  and 
had  trembled  lest  the  altar  should  be  kindled  upon  the  ruins 
of  his  fame.  For  Cleonice  was  wholly,  ardently,  sublimely 
Greek,  filled  in  each  crevice  of  her  soul  with  its  lovely  poet-, 
ry,  its  beautiful  superstition,  its  heroic  freedom.  As  Greek, 
she  had  loved  Pausanias,  seeing  in  him  the  lofty  incarna- 
tion of  Greece  itself.  The  descendant  of  the  demi-god,  the 
champion  of  Plataea,  the  saviour  of  Hellas — theme  for  song  till 
song  should  be  no  more — these  attributes  were  what  she  beheld 
and  loved  ;  and  not  to  have  reigned  by  his  side  over  a  world 
would  she  have  welcomed  one  object  of  that  evil  ambition 
which  renounced  the  loyalty  of  a  Greek  for  the  supremacy  of 
a  king. 

Meanwhile,  though  Antagoras  had,  with  no  mean  degree 
of  generosity,  relinquished  his  suit  to  Cleonice,  he  detected 
with  a  jealous  vigilance  the  continued  visits  of  Pausanias, 
and  burned  with  increasing  hatred  against  his  favored  and 
powerful  rival.  Though,  in  common  with  all  the  Greeks  out 
of  the  Peloponnesus,  he  was  very  imperfectly  acquainted  with 
the  Spartan  constitution,  he  could  not  be  blinded,  like  Cleo- 
nice, into  the  belief  that  a  law  so  fundamental  in  Sparta,  and 
so  general  in  all  the  primitive  states  of  Greece,  as  that  which 
forbade  intermarriage  with  a  foreigner,  could  be  cancelled  for 
the  Regent  of  Sparta,  and  in  favor  of  an  obscure  maiden  of 
Byzantium.  Every  visit  Pausanius  paid  to  Cleonice  buc 
served,  in  his  eyes,  as  a  prelude  to  her  ultimate  dishonor 
He  lent  himself,  therefore,  with  all  the  zeal  of  his  vivacioui 
and  ardent  character,  to  the  design  of  removing  Pausanias 
himself  from  Byzantium.  He  plotted  with  the  implacable 
Uliades  and  the  other  Ionian  captains  to  send  to  Sparta  a  for- 
mal mission,  stating  their  grievances  against  the  Regent  and 
urging  his  recall.  But  the  altered  manner  of  Pausanius  de- 
prived them  of  their  just  pretext ;  and  the  lonians,  more  and 
more  under  the  influence  of  the  Athenian  chief,  were  disin- 
clined to  so  extreme  a  measure  without  the  consent  of  Aristides 
and  Cimon.  These  two  chiefs  were  not  passive  spectators  of  af- 
fairs so  critical  to  their  ambition  for  Athens — they  penetrated 
into  the  motives  of  Pausanias  in  the  novel  courtesy  of  de- 
meanor that  he  adopted,  and  they  foresaw  that  if  he  could 
succeed  in  wearing  away  the  patience  of  the  allies  and  disr 


92 


PAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 


persing  the  fleet,  yet  without  giving  occasion  for  his  own  re 
call,  the  golden  opportunity  of  securing  to  Athens  the  niari 
time  ascendency  would  be  lost.  They  resolved,  therefore,  to 
make  the  occasion  which  the  wiles  of  the  Regent  had  delayed  ; 
and  toward  this  object  Antagoras,  moved  by  his  own  jealous 
hate  against  Pausanias,  worked  incessantly.  Fearless  and 
vigilant,  he  was  ever  on  the  watch  for  some  new  charge 
against  the  Spartan  chief,  ever  relentless  in  stimulating  sus- 
picion, aggravating  discontent,  inflaming  the  fierce,  and  argu- 
ing with  the  timid.  His  less  exalted  station  allowed  him  to 
mix  more  familiarly  with  the  ^^arious  Ionian  officers  than 
would  have  become  the  high-born  Cimon,  and  the  dignified 
repute  of  Aristides.  Seeking  to  distract  his  mind  from  the 
haunting  thought  of  Cleonice,  he  flung  himself  with  the  ardor 
of  his  Greek  temperament  into  the  social  pleasures,  which 
took  a  zest  from  the  design  that  he  carried  into  them  all.  In 
the  banquets,  in  the  sports,  he  was  ever  seeking  to  increase 
the  enemies  of  his  rival  ;  and  where  he  charmed  a  gay  com- 
panion, there  he  often  enlisted  a  bold  conspirator. 

Pausanias,  the  unconscious  or  the  careless  object  of  the 
Ionian's  jealous  hate,  could  not  resist  the  fatal  charm  of  Cleo- 
nice's  presence  ;  and  if  it  sometimes  exasperated  the  more 
evil  elements  of  his  nature,  at  other  times  it  so  lulled  them 
to  rest,  that  had  the  Fates  given  him  the  rightful  claim  to 
that  single  treasure,  not  one  guilty  thought  might  have  dis- 
turbed the  majesty  of  a  soul  which,  though  undisciplined  and 
uncultured,  owed  half  its  turbulence  and  half  its  rebellious 
pride  to  its  baffled  yearnings  for  human  affection  and  natu- 
ral joy.  And  Cleonice,  unable  to  shun  the  visits  which  her 
weak  and  covetous  father,  despite  his  promised  favor  to  the 
suit  of  Antagoras,  still  encouraged  ;  and  feeling  her  honor,  at 
least,  if  not  her  peace,  was  secured  by  that  ascendency  which, 
with  each  successive  interview  between  them,  her  character 
more  and  more  asserted  over  the  Spartan's  higher  nature 
relinquished  the  tormenting  levity  of  tone  whereby  she  had 
once  sought  to  elude  his  earnestness,  or  conceal  her  own  sen- 
timents. An  interest  in  a  fate  so  solemn,  an  interest  far 
deeper  than  mere  human  love,  stole  into  her  heart  and  eleva- 
ted its  instincts.  She  recognized  the  immense  compassion 
which  was  due  to  the  man  so  desolate  at  the  head  of  arma- 
ments, so  dark  in  the  midst  ofglor\'.  Centuries  roll,  customs 
change,  but,  ever  since  the  time  of  the  earliest  mother, 
woman  yearns  to  be  the  soother. 


PA  DSAAVAS,   THE  SPA  R  TAN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


93 


It  was  the  hour  of  the  day  when  between  the  two  princi* 
pal  meals  of  the  Greeks,  men  surrendered  themselves  to  idle- 
ness or  pleasure  ;  when  groups  formed  in  the  market-place, 
or  crowded  the  barbers'  shops,  to  gossip  and  talk  of  news  \ 
when  the  tale-teller  or  ballad-singer  collected  round  him  on 
the  quays  his  credulous  audience ;  when  on  playgrounds  that 
stretched  behind  the  taverns  or  without  the  walls  the  more 
active  youths  assembled,  and  the  quoit  was  hurled,  or  mimic 
battles  waged  with  weapons  of  wood  ;  or  the  Dorians  weaved 
their  simple,  the  lonians  their  more  intricate  or  less  decorous 
dances.  At  that  hour  Lysander,  wandering  from  the  circles 
of  his  countrymen,  walked  musingly  by  the  sea-shore. 

"And  why,"  said  the  voice  of  a  person  who  had  aj> 
preached  him  unperceived,  "  and  why,  O  Lysander,  art  thou 
absent  from  thy  comrades,  thou  model  and  theme  of  the 
youths  of  Sparta,  foremost  in  their  manly  sports,  as  in  their 
martial  labors  ? " 

Lysander  turned  and  bowed  low  his  graceful  head,  for  he 
who  accosted  him  was  scarcely  more  honored  by  the  Atheni- 
ans, whom  his  birth,  his  wealth,  and  his  popular  demeanor 
dazzled,  than  by  the  plain  sons  of  Sparta,  who,  in  his  simple 
garb,  his  blunt  and  hasty  manner,  his  professed  admiration 
for  all  things  Spartan,  beheld  one  Athenian  at  least  congenial 
to  their  tastes. 

"  The  child  that  misses  its  mother,"  answered  Lysander, 
"  has  small  joy  with  its  playmates.  And  I,  a  Spartan,  pine 
for  Sparta." 

"  Truly,"  returned  Cimon,  "  there  must  be  charms  in  thy 
noble  country  of  which  we  other  Greeks  know  but  little,  if 
amidst  all  the  luxuries  and  delights  of  Byzantium  thou  canst 
pine  for  her  rugged  hills.  And  although,  as  thou  knowest 
well,  I  was  once  a  sojourner  in  thy  city  as  embassador  from 
my  own,  yet  to  foreigners  so  little  of  the  inner  Spartan  life 
is  revealed,  that  I  pray  thee  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  and  ex- 
plain to  me  the  charm  that  reconciles  thee  and  thine  to  in- 
stitutions which  seem  to  the  lonians  at  war  with  the  pleasures 
and  the  graces  of  social  life."* 

*  Alexander,  King  of  Macedon,  had  visited  the  Athenians  with  over- 
tures of  peace  and  alliance  from  Xerxes  and  Mardonius.      These  over 


g4  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"  111  can  the  native  of  one  land  explain  to  the  son  of  an- 
other why  he  loves  it,"  returned  Lysander.  "  That  which 
the  Ionian  calls  pleasure  is  to  me  but  tedious  vanity ;  that 
which  he  calls  grace  is  to  me  but  ener\ate  le\ity.  Me  it 
pleases  to  find  the  day,  from  sunrise  to  night,  full  of  occupa- 
tions that  leave  no  languor,  that  employ,  but  not  excite.  Foi 
the  morning,  our  gymnasia,  our  military  games,  the  chase — 
diversions  that  brace  the  limbs  and  leave  us  in  peace  fit  for 
war — diversions  which,  unlike  the  brawls  of  the  wordy  Agora, 
bless  us  with  the  calm  mind  and  clear  spirit  resulting  from 
vigorous  habits,  and  insuring  jocund  health.  Noon  brings 
our  simple  feast,  shared  in  public,  enlivened  by  jest ;  late  at 
eve  we  collect  in  our  Lesch^e,  and  the  winter  nights  seem 
short,  listening  to  old  men's  talk  of  our  sires  and  heroes. 
To  us  life  is  one  serene  yet  active  holiday.  No  Spar- 
tan condescends  to  labor,  yet  no  Spartan  can  womanize 
himself  by  ease.  For  us,  too,  differing  from  you  Ionian 
Greeks,  for  us  women  are  companions,  not  slaves.  Man's 
youth  is  passed  under  the  eyes  and  in  the  presence  of 
those  from  whom  he  may  select,  as  his  heart  inclines,  the 
future  mother  of  his  children.  Not  for  us  your  feverish  and 
miserable  ambitions,  the  intrigues  of  demagogues,  the  drudge- 
ry of  the  mart,  the  babble  of  the  populace  ;  we  alone  know 
the  quiet  repose  of  heart.  That  which  I  see  everywhere  else, 
the  gnawing  strife  of  passion,  visits  not  the  stately  calm  of 
the  Spartan  life.  We  have  the  leisure,  not  of  the  body  alone, 
but  of  the  soul.  Equality  with  us  is  the  all  in  all,  and  we 
know  not  that  jealous  anguish — the  desire  to  rise  one  above 
the  other.  We  busy  ourselves  not  in  making  wealth,  in  rul- 
ing mobs,  in  ostentatious  rivalries  of  state,  and  gaud,  and 
power — struggles  without  an  object.  When  we  struggle,  it  is 
for  an  end.  Nothing  moves  us  from  our  calm  but  danger  to 
Sparta,  or  woe  to  Hellas.  Harmony,  peace,  and  order — 
these  are  the  graces  of  our  social  life.  Pity  us,  O  Athenian  ! " 

tures  were  confined  to  the  Athenians  alone,  and  the  Spartans  were  fear- 
ful lest  they  should  be  accepted.  The  Athenians,  however,  generously 
refused  them.  Gold,  said  thev,  hath  no  amount,  earth  no  territory,  how 
beautiful  soever  that  could  tempt  the  Athenians  to  accept  conditions  from 
the  Mede  for  the  servitude  of  Greece.  On  this  the  Persians  invaded 
Attica,  and  the  Athenians,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  promised  aid  from 
Sparta,  took  refuge  at  .Salamis.  Meanwhile,  they  had  sent  messengers 
or  embassadors  to  Sparta,  to  remonstrate  on  the  violation  of  their  agree- 
ment in  delaying  succor.  This  chanced  at  the  very  time  when,  by  the 
death  of  his  father,  Cleombrotus,  Pausanias  became  Regent.  Slowly, 
and  after  much  hesitation,  the  Spartans  sent  them  aid  under  Pausanias. 
Two  of  the  embassadors  were  Aristides  and  Cimon 


PA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  95 

Cimon  had  listened  with  profound  attention  to  a  speech 
unusually  prolix  and  descriptive  for  a  Spartan  ;  and  he  sighed 
deeply  as  it  closed.  For  that  young  Athenian,  destined  to  so 
renowned  a  place  in  the  history  of  his  countr}^,  was,  despite 
his  popular  manners,  no  fai'orer  of  the  popular  passions. 
Lofty  and  calm,  and  essentially  an  aristocrat  by  nature  and 
opinion,  this  picture  of  a  life  unruffled  by  the  restless  changes 
of  democracy,  safe  and  aloof  from  the  shifting  humors  of  the 
nmltitude,  charmed  and  allured  him.  He  forgot  for  the  mo- 
ment those  counter-propensities  which  made  him  still  Athenian 
— the  taste  for  magnificence,  the  love  of  women,  and  the 
desire  of  rule.  His  busy  schemes  slept  within  him,  and  he 
answered, — 

"  Happy  is  the  Spartan  who  thinks  with  you.  Yet,"  he 
added,  after  a  pause,  "  yet  own  that  there  are  among  you 
many  to  whom  the  life  you  describe  has  ceased  to  proffer 
the  charms  that  inthrall  you,and  who  envy  the  more  diversified 
and  exciting  existence  of  surrounding  states.  Lysander's 
eulogiums  shame  his  chief,  Pausanias." 

"  It  is  not  for  me,  nor  for  thee,  whose  years  scarce  exceed 
my  own,  to  judge  of  our  elders  in  renown,"  said  Lysander, 
with  a  slight  shade  over  his  calm  brow.  "  Pausanias  will 
surely  be  found  still  a  Spartan,  when  Sparta  needs  him  ;  and 
the  heart  of  the  Heracleid  beats  under  the  robe  of  the  Mede." 

"  Be  frank  with  me,  Lysander  ;  thou  knowest  that  my  own 
countrymen  often  jealously  accuse  me  of  loving  Sparta  too 
well.  I  imitate,  say  they,  the  manners  and  dress  of  the 
Spartan,  as  Pausanias  those  of  the  Mede.  Trust  me,  then, 
and  bear  with  me,  when  I  say  that  Pausanias  ruins  the  cause 
of  Sparta.  If  he  tarry  here  longer  in  the  command,  he  will 
render  all  the  allies  enemies  to  thy  country.  Already  he  has 
imjDaired  his  fame  and  dimmed  his  laurels  ;  already,  despite 
his  pretexts  and  excuses,  we  percewe  that  his  whole  nature  is 
corrupted.  Recall  him  to  Sparta  while  it  is  yet  time — time 
to  reconcile  the  Greeks  with  Sparta,  time  to  save  the  hero  of 
Plateea  from  the  contaminations  of  the  East.  Preserve  his 
own  glory,  dearer  to  thee  as  his  special  friend  than  to  all  men, 
yet  dear  to  me,  though  an  Athenian,  from  the  memory  of  the 
deeds  which  delivered  Hellas." 

Cimon  spoke  with  the  blunt  and  candid  eloquence  natural 
to  him,  and  to  which  his  manly  countenance  and  earnest  tone 
and  character  for  truth  gave  singular  effect. 

Lysander  remained  long  silent.     At  length  he  said  :  "  I 


go  FA  USA N! AS.    THE  SPARTA/^. 

neither  deny  nor  assent  to  thine  arguments,  son  of  Miltiades. 
The  Ephors  alone  can  judge  of  their  wisdom." 

"  But  if  we  address  them,  by  message,  to  the  Ephois,  thou 
and  the  nobler  Spartans  will  not  resent  our  remonstrances  ? " 

"  All  that  injures  Pausanias,  Lysander  will  resent.  Little 
know  I  of  the  fables  of  poets,  but  Homer  is  at  least  as  faniil- 
iar  to  the  Dorian,  as  to  the  Ionian,  and  I  think  with  him  that 
between  friends  there  is  but  one  love  and  one  anger." 

"  Then  are  the  frailties  of  Pausanias  dearer  to  thee  than 
his  fame,  or  Pausanias  himself  dearer  to  thee  than  Sparta — 
the  erring  brother  than  the  venerable  mother." 

Lysander's  voice  died  on  his  lips  ;  the  reproof  struck 
home  to  him.  He  turned  away  his  face,  and,  with  a  slow 
wave  of  his  hand,  seemed  to  implore  forbearance.  Cimon 
was  touched  by  the  action  and  the  generous  embarrassment 
of  the  Spartan  ;  he  saw,  too,  that  he  had  left  in  the  mind  he 
had  addressed  thoughts  that  might  work  as  he  had  designed  ; 
and  he  judged  by  the  effect  produced  on  Lysander  what  in- 
fluence the  same  arguments  might  effect  addressed  to  others 
less  under  the  control  of  personal  friendship.  Therefore, 
with  a  few  gentle  words,  he  turned  aside,  continued  his  way, 
and  left  Lvsander  alone. 

Entering  the  town,  the  Athenian  threaded  his  path  through 
some  of  the  narrow  lanes  and  alleys  that  wound  from  the 
quays  toward  the  citadel,  avoiding  the  broader  and  more  fre- 
quented streets.  The  course  he  took  was  such  as  rendered 
it  little  probable  that  he  should  encounter  any  of  the  higher 
classes,  and  especially  the  Spartans,  who  from  their  consti- 
tutional pride  shunned  the  resort  of  the  populace.  But  as 
he  came  nearer  the  citadel,  stray  Helots  were  seen  at  times 
emerging  from  the  inns  and  drinking-houses,  and  these 
stopped  short  and  inclined  low  if  they  caught  sight  of  him  at 
a  distance  ;  for  his  hat  and  staff,  his  majestic  stature  and 
composed  step,  made  them  take  him  for  a  Spartan. 

One  of  these  slaves,  however,  emerging  suddenly  from  a 
house  close  by  which  Cimon  passed,  recognized  him,  and,  re- 
treating within  abruptly,  entered  a  room  in  which  a  man  sat 
alone,  and  seemingly  in  profound  thought  ;  his  cheek  rested 
on- one  hand,  with  the  other  he  leaned  upon  a  small  lyre  ;  his 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground,  and  he  started,as  a  man  does 
dream-like  from  a  reverie,  when  the  Helot  touched  him,  and 
said  abruptly,  and  in  a  tone  of  surprise  and  inquiry, — 

"  Cimon  the  Athenian  is  ascending  the  hill  toward  the 
Spartan  quarter."  _  .^  _ 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPAKTA.W  97 

"  'I'he  Spartan  quarter  !  Cimon  !  "  exclaimed  Alcman,  foi 
it  was  he.     "  Give  me  tliy  cap  and  hide." 

Hastily  enduing  himself  in  these  rough  garaients,  and 
drawing  the  cap  o\er  his  face,  the  Mothon  hurried  to  the 
threshold,  and,  seeing  the  Athenian  in  the  distance,  followed 
his  footsteps,  though,  with  the  skill  of  a  man  used  to  ambush, 
he  kept  himself  unseen — now  under  the  projecting  roofs  of 
the  houses,  now^  skirting  the  wall,  which,  heavy  with  but- 
rcsses,  led  toward  the  outworks  of  the  citadel.  And  with  such 
success  did  he  pursue  his  track,  that  when  Cimon  paused  at 
last  at  the  place  of  his  destination,  and  gave  one  vigilant  and 
searching  glance  around  him,  he  detected  no  living  form. 

He  had  then  reached  a  small  space  of  table-land  on  which 
stood  a  few  trees  of  great  age — all  that  time  and  the  encroach- 
ments of  tli£  citadel  and  the  town  had  spared  of  the  sacred 
grove  which  formerly  surrounded  a  rude  and  primitive  temple, 
the  gray  columns  of  which  gleamed  through  the  heavy  foliage. 
Passing,  with  a  slow  and  cautious  step,  under  the  thick 
shadow  of  these  trees,  Cimon  now  arrived  before  the  open 
door  of  the  temple,  placed  at  the  east  so  as  to  admit 
the  first  beams  of  the  rising  sun.  Through  the  threshold,  in 
the  middle  of  the  fane,  the  eye  rested  on  the  statue  of  Apollo, 
raised  upon  a  lofty  pedestal  and  surrounded  by  a  rail — a 
statue  not  such  as  the  later  genius  of  the  Athenian  repre- 
sented the  god  of  light,  and  youth,  and  beauty  ;  not  wrought 
from  Parian  marble,  or  smoothest  iv'ory,  and  in  the  divinest 
proportions  of  the  human  form,  but  rude,  formal,  and  rough- 
ly hewn  from  the  wood  of  the  yew-tree — some  early  effigy  of 
the  god,  made  by  the  simple  piety  of  the  first  Dorian  coloni- 
zers of  Byzantium.  Three  forms  stood  mute  by  an  altar 
equally  homely  and  ancient,  and  adorned  with  horns,  placed 
a  little  apart,  and  considerably  below  the  statue. 

As  the  shadow  of  the  Athenian,  who  halted  at  the  thresh- 
hold,  fell  long  and  dark  along  the  floor,  the  figures  turned 
slowly,  and  advanced  toward  him.  With  an  inclination  of 
his  head,  Cimon  retreated  from  the  temple,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  abutting  from  the  rear  of  the  building  a  small  cell 
or  chamber,  which  doubtless  in  former  times  had  served  some 
priestly  purpose,  but  now,  doorless,  empty,  desolate,  showed 
the  utter  neglect  into  which  the  ancient  shrine  of  the  Dorian 
god  had  fallen  amidst  the  gay  and  dissolute  Byzantians.  To 
this  cell  Cimon  directed  his  steps  ;  the  men  he  had  seen  in  the 
temple  followed  him  ;  and  all  four,  with  brief  and  formal 


o8  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

greeting,  seated  themselves,  Cimon  on  a  fragment  of  some 
broken  column,  the  others  on  a  bench  that  stretched  along 
the  wall. 

"  Peers  of  Sparta,"  said  the  Athenian,  "  ye  have  doubtless 
ere  this  revolved  sufficiently  the  grave  matter  which  I  opened 
to  you  in  a  former  conference,  and  in  which,  to  hear  your  de- 
cision, I  seek  at  your  appointment  these  sacred  precincts." 

"  Son  of  Miltiades,"  answered  the  blunt  Polydorus,  "  you 
inform  us  that  it  is  the  intention  of  the  Athenians  to  despatch 
a  messenger  to  Sparta  demanding  the  instant  recall  of  Pau- 
sanias.  You  ask  us  to  second  that  request.  But  without  our 
aid  the  Athenians  are  masters  to  do  as  they  will.  Why 
should  we  abet  your  quarrel  against  the  Regent  ?  " 

"  Friend,"  replied  Cimon,  "  we,  the  Athenians  confess  to 
no  quarrel  with  Pausanias  ;  what  we  demand  is  to  avoid  all 
quarrel  with  him  or  yourselves.  You  seem  to  have  overlooked 
my  main  argnments.  Permit  me  to  re-urge  them  briefly.  If 
Pausanias  remains,  the  allies  have  resolved  openly  to  revolt ; 
if  you,  the  Spartans,  assist  your  chief,  as  methinks  you  needs 
must  do,  you  are  at  once  at  war  with  the  rest  of  the  Greeks. 
If  you  desert  him,  you  leave  Hellas  without  a  chief,  and  we 
will  choose  one  of  our  own.  Meanwhile,  in  thie  midst  of  our 
dissensions,  the  towns  and  states  well  affected  to  Persia  will 
return  to  her  sway  ;  and  Persia  herself  falls  upon  us  as  no 
longer  a  united  enemy,  but  an  easy  prey.  For  the  sake,  there- 
fore, of  Sparta  and  of  Greece,  we  entreat  you  to  co-operate 
with  us  ;  or,  rather,  to  let  the  recall  of  Pausanias  be  effected 
more  by  the  wise  precaution  of  the  Spartans  than  by  the 
fierce  resolve  of  the  other  Greeks.  So  you  save  best  the  dig- 
nity of  your  state,  and  so,  in  reality,  you  best  serve  your  chief. 
For  less  shameful  to  him  is  it  to  be  recalled  by  you  than  to 
be  deposed  by  us." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Gelon,  surlily,  "  what  Sparta  has  to 
do  at  all  with  this  foreign  expedition.  We  are  safe  in  our 
own  defiles." 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  remind  you  that  you  were  scarcely  safe 
at  Thermopylae,  and  that  had  the  advice  Demaratus  prof- 
fered to  Xerxes  been  taken,  and  that  island  of  Cythera,  which 
commands  Sparta  itself,  been  occupied  by  Persian  troops,  as 
in  a  future  time,  if  Sparta  desert  Greece,  it  may  be,  you  were 
undone.  And,  wisely  or  not,  Sparta  is  now  in  command  at 
Byzantium,  and  it  behooves  her  to  maintain,  with  the  dignity 
she  assumes,  the  interests  she  represents.      Grant  that  Pau- 


PAUSANIAS.   THE  SPARTAJ^. 


10 


sanias  be  recalled,  another  Spartan  can  succeed  him.    Whom 

of  your  countrymen  would  you  prefer  to  that  high  post,  if  you, 

O  Peers,  aid  us  in  the  dismissal  of  Pausanias  ?  "  * 

******  * 

*  This  chapter  was  left  unfinished  by  the  author  ;  probably  with  the 
intention  of  recasting  it.  Such  an  intention,  at  least,  is  indicated  by  the 
marginal  marks  upon  the  MS. — L. 


,jO  PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPAA/ Al^. 


BOOK  THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  fountain  sparkled  to  the  noonday,  the  sward  around 
it  was  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  vines  formed  into  shadowy 
arcades,  with  interlaced  leaves  for  roof.  Afar  through  the 
vistas  thus  formed  gleamed  the  blue  of  a  sleeping  sea. 

Under  the  hills,  or  close  by  the  margin  of  the  fountain, 
Cleonice  was  seated  upon  a  grassy  knoll,  covered  with  wild 
flowers.  Behind  her,  at  a  little  distance,  grouped  her  hand- 
maids, engaged  in  their  womanly  work,  and  occasionally  con- 
versing in  whispers.  At  her  feet  reposed  the  grand  form  of 
Pausanias.  Alcman  stood  not  far  behind  him,  his  hand 
resting  on  his  lyre,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  upward  jet  of  the 
fountain. 

"  Behold,"  said  Cleonice,  "  how  the  water  soars  up  to  the 
level  of  its  source  !  " 

"  As  my  soul  would  soar  to  thy  love,"  said  the  Spartan, 
amorously, 

"  As  thy  soul  should  soar  to  the  stars.  O  son  of  Hercu- 
les, when  I  hear  thee  burst  into  thy  wild  flights  of  ambition, 
I  see  not  thy  way  to  the  stars." 

"  Wliy  dost  thou  ever  thus  chide  the  ambition  which  may 
give  me  thee  ?  " 

"  No,  for  thou  mightest  then  be  as  much  below  me  as 
thou  art  now  above.  Too  humble  to  mate  with  the  Hera- 
cleid,  I  am  too  proud  to  stoop  to  the  Tributary  of  the 
Mede." 

"  Tributary  for  a  sprinkling  of  water  and  a  handful  of 
earth.  Well,  my  pride  may  revolt,  too,  from  the  tribute. 
But,  alas  !  what  is  the  tribute  Sparta  exacts  from  me  now? 
— personal   libert}^ — freedom  of  soul    itself.       The   Mede's 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN:  lOi 

Tributary  may  be  a  king  over  millions ;  the  Spartan  Regent 
is  a  slave  to  the  few." 

"  Cease — cease — cease.  I  will  not  hear  thee,"  cried  Cleo- 
nice,  placing  her  hands  on  her  ears. 

Pausanias  gently  drew  them  away ;  and  holding  them 
both  captive  in  the  large  clasp  of  his  own  right  hand,  gazed 
eagerly  into  her  pure,  unshrinking  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  for  in  much  thou  art  wiser  than  I 
am,  unjust  though  thou  art.  Tell  me  this.  Look  onward  to 
the  future  with  a  gaze  as  steadfast  as  now  meets  mine,  and 
say  if  thou  canst  discover  any  path,  except  that  which  it 
pleases  thee  to  condemn,  which  may  lead  thee  and  me  to  the 
marriage  altar  !  " 

Down  sunk  those  candid  eyes,  and  the  virgin's  cheek 
grew  first  rosy  red,  and  then  pale,  as  if  every  drop  of  blood 
had  receded  to  the  heart. 

"  Speak  !  "  insisted  Pausanias,  softening  his  haughty  voice 
to  its  meekest  tone. 

"  I  cannot  see  the  path  to  the  altar,"  murmured  Cleonice, 
and  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  And  if  thou  seest  it  not,"  returned  Pausanias,  "  art  thou 
brave  enough  to  say,  '  Be  we  lost  to  each  other  for  life  .'' '  I, 
though  man  and  Spartan,  am  not  brave  enough  to  say  that." 

He  released  her  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  clasped  his  own 
over  his  face.     Both  were  long  silent. 

Alcman  had  for  some  moments  watched  the  lovers  with 
deep  interest,  and  had  caught  into  his  listening  ears  the  pur- 
port of  their  words.  He  now  raised  his  lyre,  and  swept  his 
hand  over  the  chords.  The  touch  was  that  of  a  master,  and 
the  musical  sounds  produced  their  effect  on  all.  The  hand- 
maids paused  from  their  work.  Cleonice  turned  her  eyes 
wistfully  toward  the  Mothon.  Pausanias  drew  his  hands 
from  his  face,  and  cried  joyously  :  "  I  accept  the  omen. 
Foster-brother,  1  have  heard  that  measure  to  a  hymejieal 
song.     Sing  us  the  words  that  go  with  the  melody." 

"  Nay,"  said  Alcman,  gently,  "  the  words  are  not  those 
which  are  sung  before  youth  and  maiden  when  they  walk 
over  perishing  Bowers  to  bridal  altars.  They  are  the  words 
which  embody  a  legend  of  the  land  in  which  the  heroes  of 
old  dwell,  removed  from  earth,  yet  preserved  from  Hades." 

"  Ah,"  said  Cleonice — and  a  strange  expression,  calmly 
mournful,  settled  on  her  features — ''  then  the  words  may 
haply  utter  my  own  thoughts.  Sing  them  to  us,  I  pray  thee." 
The  Mothon  bowed  his  head,  and  thus  began : 


lOS  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAI^. 

THE  ISLE  OF  SPIRITS. 

Many  wonders  on  the  ocean 

Bj'  the  moonlight  may  be  seen; 

Under  moonlight  on  the  Euxine 
Rose  the  blessed  silver  isle, 

As  Leostratus  of  Croton, 
At  the  Pythian  god's  behest, 

Steer'd  along  the  troubled  waters 
To  the  tranquil  spirit-land. 

In  the  earthquake  of  the  battle, 
When  the  Locrians  reel'd  before 

Croton's  shock  of  marching  iron, 
Strode  a  Phantom  to  their  van  : 

Strode  the  shade  of  Locrian  Ajax, 
Guarding  still  the  native  soil, 

And  Leostratus,  confronting. 
Wounded  fell  before  the  spear. 

Leech  and  herb  the  wound  could  heal  nat{ 
Said  the  Pythian  god,   "  Depart, 

Voyage  o'er  the  troubled  Euxine 
To  the  tranquil  spirit-land. 

*'  There  abides  the  Locrian  Ajax, 

He  who  gave  the  wound  shall  heal} 
Godlike  souls  are  in  their  mercy 
Stronger  yet  than  in  their  wrath." 

While  at  ease  on  lullM  waters 
Rose  the  blessed  silver  isle, 

Purple  vines  in  lengthening  vistas 
Knit  the  hill-top  to  the  beach. 

And  the  beach  had  sparry  caverns, 
And  a  floor  of  golden  sands, 

And  wherever  soat'd  the  cypress, 
Underneath  it  bloom'd  the  rose. 

Glimmer'd  there  amid  the  vine-trees, 
Thoro'  cavern,  over  beach. 

Life-like  shadows  of  a  beauty 

Which  the  living  know  no  more  ; 

Towering  statures  of  great  heroes, 

They  who  fought  at  Thebes  and  Troy| 

And  with  looks  that  poets  dream  of 
Beam'd  the  women  heroes  loved. 

Kingly,  forth  before  their  comrades. 
As  the  vessel  touch'd  the  shore, 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPAKTAA.  foJ 

Came  the  stateliest  Two  by  Hymen 
Ever  hallow'd  into  One. 

As  He  strode,  the  forests  trembled 

To  the  awe  that  crown'd  his  brow  ; 
As  She  stepp'd,  the  ocean  dimpled 

To  the  ray  that  left  her  smile. 

"  Welcome  hither,  fearless  warrior  I  " 

Said  A  voice  in  which  there  slept 
Thunder-sounds  to  scatter  armies, 

As  a  north  wind  scatters  leaves. 

"  Welcome  hither,  wounded  sufferer," 

Said  a  voice  of  music  low 
As  the  coo  of  doves  that  nestle 

Under  summer  boughs  at  noon. 

"  Who  are  ye,  O  shapes  of  glory?" 

Ask'd  the  wondering  living  man  : 
Quoth  the  Man-ghost,  "  This  is  Helen, 

And  the  Fair  is  for  the  Brave. 

"  Fairest  prize  to  bravest  victor  ; 

Whom  doth  Greece  her  bravest  deeai?* 
Said  Leostratus,  "Achilles:  " 

"  Bride  and  bridegroom  then  are  we." 

"Low  I  kneel  to  thee,  Pelides, 

But,  O  marvel,  she  thy  bride, 
She  whose  guilt  unpeopled  Hellas, 

She  whose  marriage  lights  fired  Troy  I  • 

Frown'd  the  large  front  of  Achilles, 

Overshadowing  sea  and  sky, 
Even  as  when  between  Olympus 

And  Oceanus  hangs  storm. 

"  Know,  thou  dullard,"  said  Pelides, 

"  That  on  the  funereal  pyre 
Earthly  sins  are  purged  from  glory, 

And  the  Soul  is  as  the  Name. 

"If  to  her  in  life— a  Paris, 

If  to  me  in  life — a  slave, 
Helen's  mate  is  here  Achilles, 

Mine — the  sister  of  the  stars. 

"  Naught  of  her  survives  but  beauty. 

Naught  of  me  survives  but  fame; 
Here  the  Beautiful  and  Famous 

Intermingle  evermore." 

Then  throughout  the  Blessed  Island 
Sung  aloud  the  Race  of  Light, 


J04  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

'  Know,  the  Beautiful  and  Famous 
Marry  here  for  evermore  !  " 

"  Thy  song  bears  a  meaning  deeper  than  its  words,"  said 
Pausanias  ;  "  but  if  that  meaning  be  consolation,  I   compre 
hend  it  not." 

"  I  do,"  said  Cleonice.  "  Singer,  I  pray  thee  draw  near 
Let  us  talk  of  what  my  lost  mother  said  was  the  favorite 
theme  of  the  grander  sages  of  Miletus.  Let  us  talk  of 
what  lies  afar  and  undiscovered  amidst  waters  more  troubled 
than  the  Euxine.     Let  us  speak  of  the  Land  of  Souls." 

"  Who  ever  returned  from  that  land  to  tell  us  of  it  ?  "  said 
Pausanias.  "  Voyagers  that  never  voyaged  thither  save  in 
song." 

"  Son  of  Cleombrotus,"  said  Alcman,  "  hast  thou  not 
heard  that  in  one  of  the  cities  founded  by  thine  ancestor, 
Hercules,  and  named  after  his  own  name,  there  yet  dwells  a 
Priesthood  that  can  summon  to  living  eyes  the  Phantoms 
of  the  Dead  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Pausanias,  with  the  credulous  wonder 
common  to  eager  natures  which  philosophy  has  not  with- 
drawn from  the  realm  of  superstition. 

"But,"  asked  Cleonice,  "  does  it  need  the  Necromancer 
to  convince  us  that  the  soul  does  not  perish  when  the 
breath  leaves  the  lips  ?  If  I  judge  the  burden  of  thy  song 
aright,  thou  art  not,  O  singer,  uninitiated  in  the  divine  and 
consoling  doctrines  which,  emanating,  it  is  said,  from  the 
schools  of  Miletus,  establish  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
not  for  demi-gods  and  heroes  only,  but  for  us  all ;  which 
imply  the  soul's  purification  from  earthly  sins,  in  some  re- 
gions less  chilling  and  stationary  than  the  sunless  and  mel- 
ancholy Hades." 

Alcman  looked  at  the  girl  surprised. 

"  Art  thou  not,  maiden,"  said  he,  "  one  of  the  many  fe- 
male disciples  whom  the  successors  of  Pythagoras  the  Saniian 
have  enrolled  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Cleonice,  modestly ;  "  but  my  mother  had 
listened  to  great  teachers  of  wisdom,  and  I  speak  imperfect- 
ly the  thoughts  I  have  heard  her  utter  when  she  told  me  she 
had  no  terror  of  the  grave." 

"  Fair  Byzantine,"  returned  the  Mothon,  while  Pausanias, 
leaning  his  upraised  face  on  his  hand,  listened  mutely  to 
themes  new  to  his  mind  and  foreign  to  his  Spartan  culture 
— "  fair  Byzantine,   we  in  Lacedaemon,  whether  free  or  en- 


PAUSANIA.S,  THE  SPARTAN  105 

slaved,  are  not  educated  to  the  subtle  learning  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  intellect  of  Ionian  Sages.  But  I,  born  and 
licensed  to  be  a  poet,  converse  eagerly  with  all  who  swell 
the  stores  which  enrich  the  treasure-house  of  song.  And 
thus,  since  we  have  left  the  land  of  Sparta,  and  more  espe- 
cially in  yon  city,  the  centre  of  many  tribes  and  of  many 
minds,  I  have  picked  up,  as  it  were,  desultory  and  scattered 
notions,  which,  for  want  of  a  fitting  teacher,  I  bind  and 
arrange  for  myself  as  well  as  I  may.  And  since  the  ideas 
that  now  float  through  the  atmosphere  of  Hellas  are  not 
confined  to  the  great,  nay,  perhaps  are  less  visible  to  them 
than  to  those  whose  eyes  are  not  rivetted  on  the  absorbing 
substances  of  ambition  and  power,  so  I  have  learned  some- 
thing, I  know  not  how,  save  that  I  have  listened  and  re- 
flected. And  here,  where  I  have  heard  what  sages  conjec- 
ture of  a  world  which  seems  so  far  off,  but  to  which  we  are 
so  near  that  we  may  reach  it  in  a  moment,  my  interest 
might  indeed  be  intense.  For  what  is  this  world  to  him  who 
came  into  it  a  slave  ?  " 

"  Alcman,"  exclaimed  Pausanias,  "  the  foster-brother  of 
the  Heracleid  is  no  more  a  slave." 

The  Mothon  bowed  his  head  gratefully,  but  the  expres 
sion  on  his  face  retained  the  same  calm  and  sombre  resigna- 
tion. « 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Cleonice,  with  the  delicacy  of  female  con- 
solation, "  who  in  this  life  is  really  free  ?  Have  citizens  no 
thralldoni  in  custom  and  law  ?     Are  we  not  all  slaves  ?  " 

"  True.  All  slaves  !  "  murmured  the  royal  victor.  "  Envy 
none,  O  Alcman.  Yet,"  he  continued,  gloomily,  "  what  is 
the  life  beyond  the  grave  which  sacred  tradition  and  an- 
cient song  holds  out  to  us  ?  Not  thy  silver  island,  vain 
singer,  unless  it  be  only  for  an  early  race  more  immediately 
akin  to  the  gods.  Shadows  in  the  shade  are  the  dead,  at  the 
best  reviving  only  their  habits  when  on  earth,  in  phantom-like 
delusions ;  aiming  spectral  darts,  like  Orion,  at  spectral  lions  ; 
things  bloodless  and  pulseless  ;  existences  followed  to  no 
purpose  through  eternity,  as  dreams  are  through  a  night. 
Who  cares  so  to  live  again  ?     Not  I." 

"  The  sages  that  now  rise  around,  and  speak  oracles  dif 
ferent  from  those  heard  at  Delphi,"  said  Alcman,  "  treat  not 
thus  the  soul's  immortality.  They  begin  by  inquiring  how 
cre-ation  rose  ;  they  seek  to  find  the  primitive  element  ; 
what  that  may  be  they  dispute  ;  some  say  the  fiery,  some 
the  airy,  some   the  etherial  element.     Their  language  here 


lo6  PA  us  AN/AS,   THE  SPARTAN 

is  obscure.  But  it  is  a  something  which  forms,  harmo- 
nizes, works,  and  lives  on  forever.  And  of  that  somethmg 
is  the  soul  ;  creative,  harmonious,  active,  an  element  in  it- 
self. Out  of  its  development  here,  that  soul  comes  on  to 
a  new  development  elsewhere.  If  here  the  beginning  lead 
to  that  new  development  in  what  we  call  virtue,  it  moves 
to  light  and  joy  ;  if  it  can  only  roll  on  through  the  grooves 
it  has  here  made  for  itself,  in  what  we  call  vice  and  crime, 
its  path  is  darkness  and  wretchedness." 

"  In  what  we  call  virtue — what  we  call  vice  and  crime  ? 
Ah,"  said  Pausanias,  with  a  stern  sneer,  "  Spartan  virtue,  O 
Alcman,  is  what  a  Helot  may  call  crime.  And  if  ever  the 
Helot  rose  and  shouted  freedom,  would  he  not  say,  This  is 
virtue  ?  Would  the  Spartan  call  it  virtue,  too,  my  foster- 
brother  ?  " 

"  Son  of  Cleombrotus,"  answered  Alcman,  "  it  is  not  for 
me  to  vindicate  the  acts  of  th^  master ;  nor  to  blame  the 
slave  who  is  of  my  race.  Yet  the  sage  definers  of  virtue 
distinguish  between  the  Conscience  of  a  Polity  and  that  of 
the  Individual  Man.  Self-preservation  is  the  instinct  of 
every  community,  and  all  the  ordinances  ascribed  to  Lycurgus 
are  designed  to  preserve  the  Spartan  existence.  For  what 
are  the  pure  Spartan  race  ?  a  handful  of  men  established  as 
lords  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  population.  Close  by  the 
eyrie  thine  eagle  fathers  built  in  the  rocks,  hung  the  silent 
Amyclae,  a  city  of  foes  that  cost  the  Spartans  many  genera- 
tions to  subdue.  Hence  thy  state  was  a  camp,  its  citi- 
zens sentinels  ;  its  children  were  brought  up  from  the  cradle 
to  support  the  stern  life  to  which  necessity  devoted  the 
men.  Hardship  and  privation  were  second  nature.  Not 
enough  to  be  brave  ;  vigilance  was  equally  essential.  Every 
Spartan  life  was  precious ;  therefore  came  the  cunning 
which  characterizes  the  Spartan  ;  therefore  the  boy  is  per- 
mitted to  steal,  but  punished  if  detected ;  therefore  the 
whole  Commonwealth  strives  to  keep  aloof  from  the  wars 
of  Greece  unless  itself  be  threatened.  A  single  battle  in  a 
common  cause  might  suffice  to  depopulate  the  Spartan  race, 
and  leave  it  at  the  mercy  of  the  thousands  that  so  reluctantly 
own  its  dominion.  Hence  the  ruthless  determination  to 
crush  the  spirit,  to  degrade  the  class  of  the  enslaved  Helots  ; 
hence  its  dread  lest  the  slumbering  brute  force  of  the  Ser- 
vile  find  in  its  own  masses  a  head  to  teach  the  consciousness, 
and  a  hand  to  guide  the  movements,  of  its  power.  These 
are  the  necessities  of  the  Polity  ;  its  vices   are  the  outgrowth 


PA  USA  NI AS,    THE  SPARTAN:  107 

of  its  necessities  ;  and  the  life  that  so  galls  thee,  and  which 
has  sometimes  rendered  mad  those  who  return  to  it  from  hav- 
ing known  another,  and  the  danger  that  evermore  surrounds 
the  lords  of  a  sullen  multitude,  are  the  punishments  of  these 
vices.     Comprehendest  thou  ?  " 

"  I  comprehend.  " 

"  But  individuals  have  a  conscience  apart  from  that  of  the 
Community.  Every  community  has  its  errors  in  its  laws. 
No  human  laws,  how  skilfully  soever  framed,  but  give  to  a 
national  character  defects  as  well  as  merits,  merits  as  well  as 
defects.  Craft,  selfishness,  cruelty  to  the  subdued,  inhospi- 
table frigidity  to  neighbors,  make  the  defects  of  the  Spartan 
character.  But  "  added  Alcman,  with  a  kind  of  reluctant  an- 
guish in  his  voice,  "  the  character  has  its  grand  virtues,  too, 
or  would  the  Helots  not  be  the  masters  ?  Valor  indomitable  ; 
grand  scorn  of  death  ;  passionate  ardor  for  the  state,  which 
is  so  severe  a  mother  to  them  ;  antique  faith  in  the  sacred 
altars;  sublime  devotion  to  what  is  held  to  be  duty.  Are  thees 
not  found  in  the  Spartan  beyond  all  the  Greeks,  as  thou  seest 
them  in  thy  friend  Lysander — in  that  soul,  stately,  pure,  com- 
pact in  its  own  firm  substance  as  a  statue  within  a  temple  is 
in  its  Parian  stone  ?  But  what  the  gods  ask  from  man  is  virtue 
in  himself,  according  as  he  comprehends  it.  And,  therefore, 
here  all  societies  are  equal  ;  for  the  gods  pardon  in  the  man 
the  faults  he  shares  with  his  Community,  and  ask  from  him 
but  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  such  as  the  nature  of  his 
Community  will  permit  him  to  conceive  and  to  accomplish. 
Thou  knowest  that  there  are  many  kinds  of  music — for  in- 
stance, the  Doric,  the  ^olian,  the  Ionian — in  Hellas.  The 
Lydians  have  their  music,  the  Phrygians  theirs,  too.  The 
Scyth  and  the  Mede  doubtless  have  their  own.  Each  race 
prefers  the  music  it  cultivates,  and  finds  fault  with  the  music 
of  other  races.  And  yet  a  man  who  has  learned  melody  and 
measure  will  recognize  a  music  in  them  all.  So  it  is  with 
virtue,  the  music  of  the  human  soul.  It  differs  in  differing  races. 
But  he  who  has  learned  to  know  what  virtue  is  can  recognize 
its  harmonies,  wherever  they  be  heard.  And  thus  the  soul  that 
fulfils  its  own  notions  of  music,  and  carries  them  up  to  its  ide-i 
of  excellence,  is  the  master  soul ;  and  in  the  regions  to  which 
it  goes,  when  the  breath  leaves  the  lips,  it  pursues  the  same 
art  set  free  from  the  trammels  that  confined  and  the  false 
judgments  that  marred  it  here.  For  then  the  soul  is  no 
longer  Spartan,  or  Ionian,  Lydian,  Median,  or  Scythian. 
Escaped  into  the  upper  air,  it  is  the  citizen  of  universal  treedoia 


lo8  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

and  universal  light.  And  hence  it  does  not  live  as  a  ghost  in 
gloomy  shades,  being  merely  a  pale  memory  of  tilings  that 
have  passed  away  ;  but  in  its  primitive  being  as  an  emanation 
from  the  one  divine  principle  which  penetrates  everywhere, 
vivifies  all  things,  and  enjoys  in  all.  This  is  what  I  weave 
together  from  the  doctrines  of  varying  schools  ;  schools  that 
collect  from  the  fields  of  thought  flowers  of  different  kinds 
which  conceal,  by  adorning  it,  the  ligament  that  unites  them 
all  :  this,   I  say,  O  Pausanias,  is   my  conception  of  the  soul.  " 

Cleonice  rose  softly,  and,  taking  from  her  bosom  a  rose, 
kissed  it  fervently,  and   laid  it  at  the  feet  of  the  singer. 

"  Were  this  my  soul,  "  cried  she,  "  I  would  ask  thee  to 
bind  it  in  the  wreath.  " 

Vague  and  troubled  thoughts  passed  meanwhile  through 
the  mind  of  the  Heracleid  :  old  ideas  being  disturbed  and  dis- 
lodged, the  new  ones  did  not  find  easy  settlement  in  a 
brain  occupied  with  ambitious  schemes  and  a  heart  agitated 
by  stormy  passions.  In  much  superstitious,  in  much  scep- 
tical, as  education  had  made  him  the  one,  and  experience 
but  of  worldly  things  was  calculated  to  make  him  the  other, 
he  followed  not  the  wing  of  the  philosophy  which  passed 
through  heights  not  occupied  by  Olympus,  and  dived  into 
depths  where  no  Tartarus  echoed  to  the  wail  of  Cocytus. 

After  a  pause  he  said,  in  his  perplexity, — 

"  Well  mayst  thou  own  that  no  Delphian  oracle  tells  thee 
all  this.  And  when  thou  speakest  of  the  Divine  Principle  as 
one,  dost  thou  not,  oh  presumptuous  man,  depopulate  the 
Hall  of  Ida  ?  Nay,  is  it  not  Zeus  himself  whom  thou  dethronest? 
is  not  thy  Divine  Principle  the  Fate  which  Zeus  himself  must 
obey  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  young  man  of  Clazomenae,"  answered  the 
singer,  "  named  Anaxagoras,  who,  avoiding  all  active  life, 
though  of  birth  the  noblest,  gives,  himself  up  to  contempla- 
tion,  and  whom  I  have  listened  to  in  the  city  as  he  passed 
through  it,  on  his  way  into  Eg}'pt.  And  I  heard  him  say, 
'  Fate  is  an  empty  name.  '  *  Fate  is  blind,  the  Divine  is  All- 
seeing.  " 

"  How  !  "  cried  Cleonice.  "  An  empty  name — she  !  Ne- 
cessity, the  All-compelling.  " 

The  musician  drew  from  the  harp  one  of  the  most  artful 
of  Sappho's  exquisite  melodies. 

*  Anaxagoras  was  then  between  twenty  and  thirty  years  of  age.— 
See  Ritter  vol.  ii.,  for  the  sentiment  here  ascribed  to  him,  and  a  general 
view  of  his  tenets. 


FAUSANFAS,   THF  SPARTA IV. 


109 


"  What  drew  forth  that  music  ?  "  he  asked,  smiUng.  "  My 
hand  and  my  will,  from  a  genius  not  present,  not  v'.sible. 
Was  that  genius  a  blind  fate  ?  No  it  was  a  grand  intelligence. 
Nature  is  to  the  Deity  what  my  hand  and  will  are  to  the  un- 
seen genius  of  the  musician.  They  obey  an  intelligence  and 
they  form  a  music.  If  creation  proceed  from  an  intelligence, 
what  we  call  fate  is  but  the  consequence  of  its  laws.  And 
Nature  operates  not  in  the  external  world  alone,  but  in  the 
core  of  all  life  ;  therefore  in  the  mind  of  man  obeying  only 
what  some  supreme  intelligence  has  placed  there ;  therefore 
in  man's  mind  producing  music  or  discord,  according  as  he 
has  learned  the  principles  of  harmony,  that  is,  of  good.  And 
there  be  sages  who  declare  that  Intelligence  and  Love  are 
the  same.  Yet,"  added  the  Mothon,  with  an  aspect  solemnly 
compassionate,  "  not  the  love  thou  mockest  by  the  name  of 
Aphrodite.  No  mortal  eye  hath  ever  seen  that  love  within 
the  known  sphere,  yet  all  insensibly  feel  its  reign.  What 
keeps  the  world  together  but  affection  ?  What  makes  the 
earth  bring  forth  its  fruits  but  the  kindness  which 
beams  in  the  sunlight  and  descends  in  the  dews  ?  What 
makes  the  lioness  watch  over  her  cubs,  and  the  bird,  with  all 
air  for  its  wanderings,  come  back  to  the  fledglings  in  its  nest  ? 
Strike  love,  the  conjoiner,  from  creation,  and  creation  returns 
to  a  void.  Destroy  love,  the  parental,  and  life  is  born  but  to 
perish.  Where  stop  the  influence  of  love,  or  how  limit  multi- 
form degree  .-'  Love  guards  the  fatherland  ;  crowns  with  turrets 
the  walls  of  the  freeman.  What  but  love  binds  the  citizens 
of  states  together,  and  frames  and  heeds  the  laws  that  sub- 
mit individual  liberty  to  the  rule  of  the  common  good  ?  Love 
creates,  love  cements,  love  enters  and  harmonizes  all  things. 
And  as  like  attracts  like,  so  love  attracts  in  the  hereafter  the 
loving  souls  that  conceived  it  here.  From  the  region  where 
it  summons  them,  its  opposites  are  excluded.  There  ceases 
war ;  there  ceases  pain.  There,  indeed,  intermingle  the 
beautiful  and  glorious,  but  beauty  purified  from  earthly  sin, 
the  glorious  resting  from  earthly  toil.  Ask  ye  how  to  know  on 
earthwhere  love  is  really  presiding  ?  Not  in  Paphos,  not  in  Ama- 
thus.  Wherever  thou  seest  beauty  and  good  ;  wherever  thou 
seest  life,  and  that  life  pervaded  with  faculties  of  joy,  there 
thou  seest  love  ;  there  thou  shouldst  recognize  the  r3i\  !nity  ?  " 

"  And  where  I  see  misery  and  hate,"  said  the   Spartan 
"  what  should  I  recognize  there  ?  " 

"  Master,"  returned  the  singer,  "  can  the  good  come  with 


no  PAUSANIAS,    TriF.   SPARTAN. 

out  a  Struggle  ?  Is  the  beautiful  accomplished  without  strife  ? 
Recall  the  tales  of  primeval  chaos,  when,  as  sung  the  As- 
craean  singer,  love  first  darted  into  the  midst ;  imagine  the 
heave  and  throe  of  joining  elements  ;  conjure  up  the  first 
living  shapes,  born  of  the  fluctuating  slime  and  vapor.  Sure- 
ly they  were  things  incomplete,  deformed  ghastly  fragments 
of  being,  as  are  the  dreams  of  a  maniac.  Had  creative  Love 
stopped  there,  and  thou,  standing  on  the  height  of  some  fair 
completed  world,  had  viewed  the  warring  portents,  wouldst 
thou  not  have  said,  But  these  are  the  works  of  Evil  and  Hate  ? 
Love  did  not  stop  there,  it  worked  on  ;  and  out  of  the  chaos 
once  ensouled,  this  glorious  world  swung  itself  into  ether, 
the  completed  sister  of  the  stars.  Again,  O  my  listeners, 
contemplate  the  sculptor,  when  the  block  from  the  granite 
shaft  first  stands,  rude  and  shapeless,  before  him.  See  him 
in  his  earlier  strife  with  the  obstinate  matter — how  uncouth 
the  first  outline  of  limb  and  feature  ;  unlovelier  often  in  the 
rugged  commencements  of  shape  than  when  the  dumb  mass 
stood  shapeless.  If  the  sculptor  had  stopped  there,  the 
thing  might  serve  as  an  image  for  the  savage  of  an  abomin- 
able creed,  engaged  in  the  sacrifice  of  human  fiesh.  But  he 
pauses  not,he  works  on.  Stroke  by  stroke  comes  from  the  stone 
shape  of  more  beauty  than  man  himself  is  endowed  with,  and 
in  a  human  temple  stands  a  celestial  image, 

"  Thus  is  it  with  a  soul  in  the  mundane  sphere ;  it  works 
its  way  on  through  the  adverse  matter.  We  see  its  work 
half  completed ;  we  cry,  '  Lo  !  this  is  misery,  this  is  hate,' 
because  the  chaos  is  not  yet  a  perfected  world,  and  the  stone 
block  is  not  yet  a  statue  of  Apollo.  But  for  that  reason  must 
we  pause  ?  No ;  we  must  work  on,  till  the  victory  brings  the 
repose. 

"  All  things  come  into  order  from  the  war  of  contraries  ; 
the  elements  fight  and  wrestle  to  produce  the  wild  flower  at 
our  feet ;  from  a  wild  flower  man  hath  striven  and  toiled  to 
perfect  the  marvellous  rose  of  the  hundred  leaves.  Hate  is 
necessar}'  for  the  energies  of  love,  evil  for  the  activity  of  good  ; 
until,  I  say,  the  victory  is  won,  until  Hate  and  Evil  are  sub- 
dued, as  the  sculptor  subdues  the  stone  ;  and  then  rises  the 
divine  image  serene  forever,  and  rests  on  its  pedestal  in  the 
Uranian  Temple.  Lift  thine  eyes ;  that  temple  is  yonder. 
O  Pausanias,  the  sculptor's  workroom  is  the  earth." 

Alcman  paused,  and,  sweeping  his  hand  once  more  over 
his  lyre,  chanted  as  follows  : — 


PAUSANTAS,    THE  SPARTAN:  III 

**  Dewdrop  that  weepest  on  the  sharp-barbed  thorn, 
Why  didst  thou  fall  from  Day's  golden  chalices  ? 
'My  tears  bathe  the  thorn,'  said  the  Dewdrop, 
'To  nourish  the  bloom  of  the  rose.' 

"Soul  of  the  Infant,  why  to  calamity 

Comest  thou  wailing  from  the  calm  spirit-source? 

'Ask  of  the  Dew,'  said  the  Infant, 

'  Why  it  descends  on  the  thorn  ! ' 

"Dewdrop  from  storm,  and  soul  from  calamity 
Vanish  soon — whither  ?  let  the  Dew  answer  thee  J 
'Have  not  my  tears  been  my  glory  ? 
Tears  drew  me  up  to  the  sun.' 

"  What  were  thine  uses,  that  thou  art  glorified? 
What  did  thy  tears  give,  profiting  earth  or  sky  ? 

'  There,  to  the  thorn-stem  a  blossom  ; 

Here,  to  the  Iris  a  tint.'" 

Alcman  had  modulated  the  tones  of  his  voice  into  a  sweet« 
ness  so  plaintive  and  touching,  that  when  he  paused,  the 
handmaidens  had  involuntarily  risen  and  gathered  round, 
hushed  and  noiseless.  Cleonice  had  lowered  her  veil  over 
her  face  and  bosom  ;  but  the  heaving  of  its  tissue  betrayed 
her  half-suppressed,  gentle  sob  ;  and  the  proud  mournfulness 
on  the  Spartan's  swarthy  countenance  had  given  way  to  a  soft 
composure,  melancholy  still — but  melancholy  as  a  lulled 
though  dark  water,  over  which  starlight  steals  through  dis- 
parted cloud. 

Cleonice  was  the  first  to  break  the  spell  which  bound 
them  all.  "  I  would  go  within,"  she  murmured  faintly.  "  The 
sun,  now  slanting,  strikes  through  the  vine-leaves  and  blinds 
me  with  its  glare." 

Pausanias  approached  timidly,  and,  taking  her  by  the 
hand,  drew  her  aside,  along  one  of  the  grassy  alleys  that 
stretched  onward  to  the  sea. 

The  handmaidens  tarried  behind,  to  cluster  nearer  round 
the  singer.     They  forgot  he  was  a  slave. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Thou  art  weeping  still,  Cleonice  !  "    said  the  Spartan, 
•*  and  I  have  not  the  privilege  to  kiss  away  thy  tears." 

"  Nay,  I  weep  not,"  answered  the  girl,  throwing  up  her 


112  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 

veil  ;  and  her  face  was  calm,  if  still  sad — the  tear  3'et  on  the 
eyelids,  but  the  smile  upon  the  lip — 

"  Thy  singer  has  learned  his  art    from   a   teacher  heavenlier 
than  the  Pierides,  and  its  name  is   Hope." 

"  But  if  I  understand  him  aright,"  said  Pausanias,  "  the 
Hope  that  inspires  him  is  a  goddess  who  blesses  us  little  on 
the  earth." 

As  if  the  ]\Iothon  had  overheard  the  Spartan,  his  voice 
here  suddenly  rose  behind  them,  singing  : — 

"  There  the  Beautiful  and  Glorious 
Intermingle  evermore." 

Involuntarily  both  turned.  The  Mothon  seemed  as  if 
explaining  to  the  handmaids  the  allegory  of  his  marriage-song 
upon  Helen  and  Achilles,  for  his  head  was  raised  on  high, 
and  again,  with  an  emphasis,  he  chanted  : — 

"  There,  throughout  the  Blessed  Islands, 

And  amid  the   Race  of  Light. 
Do  the  Beautiful  and  Glorious 

Intermingle  evermore." 

"  Canst  thou  not  wait,  if  thou  so  lovest  me  ?  "  said  Cleo- 
nice,  w'ith  more  tenderness  in  her  voice  than  it  had  ever  yet 
betrayed  to  him  ;  "  life  is  very  short.  Hush  1  "  she  contin- 
ued, checking  the  passionate  interruption  that  burst  from  his 
lips  ;  "  I  have  something  I  would  confide  to  thee  :  listen. 
Know  that  in  my  childhood  I  had  a  dear  friend,  a  maiden  a 
few  years  older  than  myself,  and  she  had  the  divine  gift  of 
trance  which  comes  from  Apollo.  Often,  gazing  into  space, 
her  eyes  became  fixed,  and  hef  frame  still  as  a  statue's  ;  then 
a  shiver  seized  her  limbs,  and  prophecy  broke  from  her  Ups. 
And  she  told  me  in  one  of  these  hours,  when,  as  she  said, 
'  all  space  and  all  time  seemed  spread  before  her  like  a  sun- 
lit ocean,'  she  told  me  of  my  future,  so  far  as  its  leaves  have 
yet  unfolded  from  the  stem  of  my  life.  Spartan,  she  prophe- 
sied that  I  should  see  thee — and — "  Cleonice  paused,  blush- 
ing, and  then  hurried  on,  "  and  she  told  me  that  suddenly 
her  eye  could  follow  my  fate  on  the  earth  no  more,  that  it 
vanished  out  of  the  time  and  the  space  on  which  it  gazed, 
and,  saying  it,  she  wept,  and  broke  into  a  funeral  song. 
And  therefore,  Pausanias,  I  say  life  is  very  short,  for  me  at 
least—" 

"  Hold,"  cried  Pausanias  ;  '*  torture  not  me,  nor  delude 


PAISANIAS,    THE  SFARTA.W  i  i -^ 

thyself  with  llie  dreams  of  a  raving  girl.  Lives  she  near  ? 
Let  me  visit  her  with  thee,  and  I  will  prove  thy  prophetess 
an  impostor." 

"  They  whom  the  Priesthood  of  Delphi  employ  through- 
out Hellas  to  find  the  fit  natures  for  a  Pythoness  heard  ol 
ber,  and  heard  herself.  She  whom  thou  callest  impostor 
gives  the  answer  to  perplexed  nations  from  the  Pythian 
shiine.  But  wherefore  doubt  her  ? — where  the  sorrow  .?  1 
feel  none.  If  love  does  rule  the  worlds  beyond,  and  does 
unite  souls  who  love  nobly  here,  yonder  we  shall  meet,  O 
descendant  of  Hercules,  and  human  laws  will  not  part  us 
there  !  " 

"  Thou  die  !  die  before  me  !  thou,  scarcely  half  my  years  ! 
And  I  be  left  here,  with  no  comfort  but  a  singer's  dreamy 
verse,  not  even  mine  ambition  !  Thrones  would  vanish  out 
of  earth,  and  turn  to  cinders  in  thine  urn." 

"  Speak  not  of  thrones,"  said  Cleonice,  with  imploring 
softness,  "  for  the  prophetess,  too,  spake  of  steps  that  went 
toward  a  throne,  and  vanished  at  the  threshold  of  darkness, 
beside  which  sat  the  Furies.  Speak  not  of  thrones,  dream 
but  of  glory  and  Hellas — of  what  thy  soul  tells  thee  is  that 
virtue  which  makes  life  a  Uranian  music,  and  thus  unites  it 
to  the  eternal  symphonj^,  as  the  breath  of  the  single  tiute 
melts  when  it  parts  from  the  instrument  into  the  great  con- 
cord of  the  choir.  Knowest  thou  not  that  in  the  creed  of  the 
Persians  each  mortal  is  watched  on  earth  by  a  good  spirit 
and  an  evil  one  ?  And  they  who  loved  us  below,  or  to  whom 
we  have  done  beneficent  and  gentle  deeds,  if  they  go  before 
us  into  death,  pass  to  the  side  of  the  good  spirit,  and 
strengthen  him  to  save  and  to  bless  thee  against  the  malice 
of  the  bad,  and  the  bad  is  strengthened  in  his  turn  by  those 
whom  we  have  injured.  Wouldst  thou  have  all  the  Greeks 
whose  birthright  thou  wouldst  barter,  whose  blood  thou 
wouldst  shed  for  barbaric  aid  to  thy  solitary  and  lawless 
power,  stand  by  the  side  of  the  evil  Fiend  ?  And  what 
could  I  do  against  so  many  ?  what  could  my  soul  do,"  added 
Cleonice,  with  simple  pathos,  "  by  the  side  of  the  kinder 
spirit  ? " 

Pausanias  was  wholly  subdued.  He  knelt  to  the  girl,  he 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  robe,  and  for  the  moment  ambition, 
luxury,  pomp,  pride  tied  from  his  soul,  and  left  there  only 
the  grateful  tenderness  of  the  man,  and  the  lofty  instincts  of 
the  hero.  But  just  then — was  it  the  evil  spirit  that  sent  him  ? 
— the  boughs  of  the  vine  were  put  aside,   and  Gongylus  the 


11^  PAUSAAUAS,   THE  SPAR  TAW 

Eretrian  stood  before  them.  His  black  eyes  glittered  keen 
upon  Pausanias,  who  rose  from  his  knee,  startled  and  dis 
pleased. 

"  What  brings  thee  hither,  man  ? "  said  the  Regent 
haughtily. 

"  Danger  !  "  answered  Gongylus,  in  a  hissing  whisper. 
Lose  not  a  moment — come." 

"  Danger  !  "  exclaimed  Cleonice,  tremblingly,  and  clas]> 
ing  her  hands,  and  all  the  human  love  at  her  heart  was  vis- 
ible in  her  aspect.     "  Danger,  and  to  him!  " 

"  Danger  is  but  as  the  breeze  of  my  native  air,"  said  the 
Spartan,  smiling  ;  "  thus  I  draw  it  in  and  thus  bieathe  it 
away.  I  follow  thee,  Gongylus.  Take  my  greeting  Cleo- 
nice— the  Good  to  the  Beautiful.  Well,  then,  keep  Alcman 
yet  awhile  to  sing  thy  kind  face  to  repose,  and  this  time 
let  him  tune  his  lyre  to  songs  of  a  more  Dorian  strain — 
songs  that  show  what  a  Heracleid  thinks  of  danger." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  the  two  men,  striding  hastily, 
passed  along  the  vine  alley,  darkened  its  vista  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  vanishing  down  the  descent  to  the  beach,  the 
wide  blue  sea  again  lay  lone  and  still  before  the  eyes  of  the 
Byzantine  maid. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Pausanias  and  the  Eretrian  halted  on  the  shore. 

"  Now  speak,"  said  the  Spartan  Regent.  "  Where  is  the 
danger }  " 

"  Before  thee,"  answered  Gongylus,  and  his  hand  pointed 
to  the  ocean. 

"  I  see  the  fleet  of  the  Greeks  in  the  harbor — I  see  the 
flag  of  my  galley  above  the  forest  of  their  masts.  I  see  de- 
tached vessels  skimming  along  the  waves  hither  and  thither 
as  in  holiday  and  sport ;  but  discipline  slackens  where  no  foe 
dares  to  show  himself.     Eretrian,  I  see  no  danger." 

"  Yet  danger  is  there,  and  where  danger  is  thou  shouldst 
be.  I  have  learned  from  my  spies,  not  an  hour  since,  that 
there  is  a  conspiracy  formed — a  mutiny  on  the  eve  of  an 
outburst.     Thy  place  now  should  be  in  thy  galley." 


PA  rs:A  NIA  S,   THE  SPA  R  TA  N.  I  \  5 

**  My  boat  waits  yonder  in  tliat  creek,  overspread  by  the 
wild  shrubs,"  answered  Pausanias ;  "  a  few  strrkes  of  the 
oar,  and  I  am  where  thou  seest.  And  in  truth,  without  thy 
summons,  I  should  have  been  on  board  ere  sunset,  seeing 
that  on  the  morrow  I  have  ordered  a  general  review  of  the 
vessels  of  the  fleet.  Was  that  to  be  the  occasion  for  the 
mutiny  ?  " 

"  So  it  is  supposed." 

"  I  shall  see  the  faces  of  the  mutineers,"  said  Pausanias, 
with  a  calm  visage,  and  an  eye  which  seemed  to  brighten 
the  very  atmosphere.  "  Thou  shakest  thy  head ;  is  this 
all  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  not  a  bird — this  moment  in  one  place,  that 
moment  in  another.  There,  with  yon  armament,  is  the  dan- 
ger thou  canst  meet.  But  yonder  sails  a  danger  which  thou 
canst  not,  I  fear  me,  overtake.'' 

"  Yonder  !  "  said  Pausanias,  his  eye  following  the  hand 
of  the  Eretrian.  "  I  see  naught  save  the  white  wing  of  a  sea- 
gull— perchance,  by  its  dip  into  the  water,  it  foretells  a 
storm." 

"  Farther  off  than  the  sea-gull,  and  seeming  smaller  than 
the  white  spot  of  its  wing,  seest  thou  nothing  ?  " 

"  A  dim  speck  on  the  farthest  horizon,  if  mine  eyes 
mistake  not." 

"The  speck  of  a  sail  that  is  bound  to  Sparta.  It  carries 
with  it  a  request  for  thy  recall." 

This  time  the  cheek  of  Pausanias  paled,  and  his  voice 
slightly  faltered  as  he  said, — 

"  Art  thou  sure  of  this  ?  " 

*'  So  I  hear  that  the  Samian  captain,  Uliades,  has  boasted 
at  noon  in  the  public  baths." 

"  A  Samian  !— is  it  only  a  Samian  who  hath  ventured  to 
address  to  Sparta  a  complaint  of  her  General  ? " 

"  From  what  I  could  gather,"  replied  Gong\'lus,  "  the 
complaint  is  more  powerfully  backed.  But  I  have  not,  as 
yet  heard  more,  though  I  conjecture  that  Athens  has  not 
been  silent,  and  before  the  vessels  sailed  Ionian  captains 
were  seen  to  come  with  joyous  faces  from  the  lodgings  of 
Cimon." 

The  Regent's  brow  grew  yet  more  troubled.  "  Cimon, 
of  all  the  Greeks  out  of  Laconia,  is  the  one  whose  word 
would  weigh  most  in  Sparta.  But  my  Spartans  themselves 
are  not  suspected  of  privity  and  connivance  in  this  mis- 
sion ?  " 


Il6  PAC/SAXJAS,    THE  SPAKTAy. 

"  It  is  not  said  that  they  are." 

Pausanias  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand  for  a  moment  '.n 
deep  thought.     Gongykis  continued, — 

"  If  the  Ephors  recall  thee  before  the  Asian  army  is  on 
the  frontier,  farewell  to  the  sovereignty  of  Hellas  1  " 

"  Ha!  "  cried  Pausanias,  "  tempt  me  not.  Thinkest  thou 
I  need  other   tempter  than  I  have  here  ?  " — smiting  his  breast. 

Gongvlus  recoiled  in  surprise.  "  Pardon  me,  PausanJas, 
but  temptation  is  another  word  for  hesitation.  I  dreamed 
that  I  could  not  tempt  ;  I  did  not  know  that  thou  didst 
hesitate." 

The  Spartan  remained  silent, 

"  Are  not  thy  messengers  on  the  road  to  the  great  king  ? 
— nay,  perhaps  already  they  have  reached  him.  Didst  thou 
not  say  how  intolerable  to  thee  would  be  life  henceforth  in 
the  iron  thraldom  of  Sparta — and  now  ?  " 

"  And  now — f  forbid  thee  to  question  me  more.  Thou 
hast  performed  thy  task  ;  leave  me  to  mine." 

He  sprang  with  the  spring  of  the  mountain  goat  from 
the  crag  on  which  he  stood — over  a  precipitous  chasm, 
lighted  on  a  narrow  ledge,  from  which  a  slip  of  the  foot 
would  have  been  sure  death,  another  bound  yet  more  fear- 
ful, and  his  whole  weight  hung  suspended  by  the  bough  of 
the  ilex  which  he  grasped  with  a  single  hand  ;  then  from 
bough  to  bough,  from  crag  to  crag,  the  Eretrian  saw  him 
decending  till  he  vanished  amidst  the  trees  that  darkened 
over  the  fissures  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

And  before  Gongvlus  had  recovered  his  amaze  at  the 
almost  preterhuman  agility  and  vigor  of  the  Spartan,  and 
his  dizzy  sense  at  the  contemplation  of  such  peril  braved  by 
another,  a  boat  shot  into  the  sea  from  the  green  creek,  and 
he  saw  Pausanias  seated  beside  Lysander  on  one  of  the 
benches,  and  conversing  with  him,  as  if  in  calm  earnestness, 
while  the  ten  rowers  sent  the  boat  toward  the  fleet  with 
the  swiftness  of  an  arrow  to  its  goal. 

"  Lvsander,"  said  Pausanias,  "  hast  thou  heard  that  the 
lonians  have  offered  to  me  the  insult  of  a  mission  to  the 
Ephors  demanding  my  recall  ?  " 

"  No.     Who  would  tell  me  of  insult  to  thee  ?  " 
"But    hast    thou    any    conjecture    that    other    Spartans 
around   me,   and  who  love  me    less  than   thou,    would   ap- 
prove, nay,  have   approved,  this  embassy  of  spies  and   mal- 
contents ?  " 

"  I  think  none  have  so  approved.     I  fear  some  would  so 


PAUSAXIAS,   THE  spartan:  hj 

approve.  The  Spartans  round  thee  would  rejoice  did  they 
know  that  the  pride  of  their  armies,  the  Victor  of  Plataea, 
were  once  more  within  their  walls." 

"  Even  to  the  dansrer  of  Hellas  from  the  Mede  ?  " 

'■'  Thy  would  rather  all  Hellas  were  Medized  than  Pau- 
sanias  the  Heracleid." 

"  Boy,  boy,"  said  Pausanias,  between  his  ground  teeth, 
"  dost  thou  not  see  that  what  is  sought  is  the  disgrace  of 
Pausanias  the  Heracleid  ?  Grant  that  I  am  recalled  from 
the  head  of  this  armament,  and  on  the  charge  of  lonians, 
and  I  am  dishonored  in  the  eves  of  all  Greece.  Dost  thou 
remember  in  the  last  Olympiad  that  when  Themistocles,  the 
only  rival  now  to  me  in  glory,  appeared  on  the  Altis,  assem- 
bled Greece  rose  to  greet  and  do  him  honor  ?  And  if  I, 
deposed,  dismissed,  appeared  at  the  next  Olympiad,  how 
would  assembled  Greece  receive  me  1  Couldst  thou  not  see 
the  pointed  finger  ^nd  hear  the  muttered  taunt,  '  That  is 
Pausanias,  whom  the  lonians  banished  from  Byzantium.' 
No,  I  must  abide  here  ;  I  must  prosecute  the  vast  plans  which 
shall  dwarf  into  shadow  the  petty  genius  of  Themistocles.  I 
must  counteract  this  mischievous  embassy  to  the  Ephors.  I 
must  send  them  an  embassador  of  my  own.  Lysander,  wilt 
thou  go,  and,  burying  in  thy  bosom  thine  own  Spartan  preju- 
dices, deem  tha-t  thou  canst  only  serve  me  by  proving  the 
reasons  why  I  should  remain  here  ;  pleading  for  me,  arguing 
for  me,  and  winning  my  suit  ?  " 

"  It  is  for  thee  to  command,  and  for  me  to  obey  thee," 
answered  Lysander,  simply.  "  Is  not  that  the  duty  of  sol- 
dier to  chief  .''  When  we  converse  as  friends  I  may  contend 
with  thee  in  speech.  When  thou  sayest,  '  Do  this,'  I  execute 
thine  action.     To  reason  with  thee  would  be  revolt." 

Pausanias  placed  his  clasped  hands  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder,  and,  leaving  them  there,  impressively  said, — 

"  I  select  thee  for  this  mission  because  thee  alone  can  I 
trust.     And  of  me  hast  thou  a  doubt  ?     Tell  me.'* 

"  If  I  saw  thee  taking  the  Persian  gold,  I  should  say  that 
the  Demon  had  mocked  mine  eyes  with  a  delusion.  Never 
could  I  doubt,  unless — unless — " 

"  Unless  what .?  " 

"  Thou  wert  standing  under  Jove's  sky,  against  the  arms 
of  Htdlas." 

"  And  then,  if  some  other  chief  bid  thee  raise  thy  sword 
against  me,  thou  art  Spartan,  and  wouldst  obey  ?  " 

"  I  am  Spartan,  and  cannot  believe  that  I  should  evei 


jjg  PAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 

have  a  cause    or  listen  to  a  command,   to   raise  my  sword 
against  the  cnief  I  now  serve  and  love,"  replied  Lysander. 

Pausanias  vvithdrew  his  hands  from  Hie  young  man's 
broad  shoulder.  He  felt  humble  beside  the  quiet  truth  of 
that  sublime  soul.  His  own  deceit  became  more  black  to  his 
conscience.  "  Methinks,"'  he  said,  tremulously,  "  I  will  not 
send  thee,  after  all — and  perhaps  the  news  may  be  false." 

The  boat  had  now  gained  the  fleet,  and,  steering  amidst 
the  crowded  triremes,  made  its  way  toward  the  floating  ban- 
ner of  the  Spartan  Serpent.  More  immediately  round  the 
General's  galley  were  the  vessels  of  the  Peloponnesian  allies, 
by  whom  he  was  still  honored.  A  welcoming  shout  rose  from 
the  seamen  lounging  on  their  decks  as  they  caught  sight  of 
the  renowned  Heracleid.  Cimon,  who  was  on  his  own  galley, 
at  some  distance,  heard  the  shout. 

"  So  Pausanias,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  officers  round  him, 
"  has  deigned  to  come  on  board,  to  direct,  I  suppose,  the 
manoeuvres  for  to-morrow." 

"  I  believe  it  is  but  the  form  of  a  review  for  manoeuvres," 
said  an  Athenian  officer,  "  in  which  Pausanias  will  inspect  the 
various  divisions  of  the  fleet,  and,  if  more  be  intended,  will 
give  the  requisite  orders  for  a  subsequent  day.  No  arrange- 
ments demanding  much  preparation  can  be  anticipated  for 
Antagoras,  the  rich  Chian,  gives  a  great  banquet  this  day — a 
supper  to  the  principal  captains  of  the  Isles." 

"  A  frank  and  hospitable  reveller  is  Antagoras,"  answered 
Cimon.  "  He  would  have  extended  his  invitation  to  the 
Athenians — me  included — but  in  their  name  I  declined." 

"  May  I  ask  wherefore  ?  "  said  the  officer  who  had  before 
spoken.  "  Cimon  is  not  held  averse  to  wine-cup  and  myrtle 
bough." 

"  But  things  are  said  over  some  wine-cups  and  under 
some  myrtle  boughs,"  answered  Cimon,  with  a  quiet  laugh, 
"  which  it  is  imprudence  to  hear,  and  would  be  treason  to  re- 
peat. Sup  with  me  here  on  deck,  friends — a  supper  for  so- 
ber companions — sober  as  the  Laconian  Syssitia,  and  let  not 
Spartans  say  that  our  manners  are  spoiled  by  the  luxuries  of 
Byzantium." 


FA  USANIAS,  THE  SPA R  TAN.  1 1 g 


CHAPTER  IV. 

In  an  immerse  peristyle  of  a  house  which  a  Byzantine 
noble,  ruined  by  lavish  extravagance,  had  been  glad  to  cede 
to  the  accommodation  of  Antagoras  and  other  officers  of 
Chios,  the  young  rival  of  Pausanias  feasted  the  chiefs  of  the 
^gean.  However  modern  civilization  may  in  some  things 
surpass  the  ancient,  it  is  certainly  not  in  luxury  and  splendor. 
And  although  the  Hellenic  States  had  not,  at  that  period, 
aimed  at  the  pomp  of  show  and  the  refinements  of  voluptuous 
pleasure  which  preceded  their  decline,  and  although  they 
never  did  carry  luxury  to  the  wondrous  extent  which  it 
reached  in  Asia,  or  even  in  Sicily,  yet  even  at  that  time  a 
wealthy  sojourner  in  such  a  city  as  Byzantium  could  com- 
mand an  entertainment  that  no  monarch  in  our  age  would 
venture  to  parade  before  royal  guests,  and  submit  to  the  crit- 
icism of  taxpaying  subjects. 

The  columns  of  the  peristyle  were  of  dazzling  alabaster, 
with  their  capitals  richly  gilt.  The  space  above  was  roof- 
less ;  but  an  immense  awning  of  purple,  richly  embroidered 
in  Persian  looms — a  spoil  of  some  gorgeous  Mede — shaded 
the  feasters  from  the  summer  sky.  The  couches  on  which 
the  banqueters  reclined  were  of  citron-wood,  inlaid  with  ivory, 
and  covered  with  the  tapestries  of  Asiatic  looms.  At  the  four 
corners  of  the  vast  hall  played  four  fountains,  and  their  spray 
sparkled  to  a  blaze  of  light  from  colossal  candelabra,  in  which 
burned  perfumed  oil.  The  guests  were  not  assembled  at  a 
single  table,  but  in  small  groups  ;  to  each  group  its  tripod  of 
exquisite  workmanship.  To  that  feast  of  fifty  revellers  no  less 
than  seventy  cooks  had  contributed  the  inventions  of  their 
art,  but  under  one  great  master,  to  whose  care  the  banquet 
had  been  consigned  by  the  liberal  host,  and  who  ransacked 
earth,  sky,  and  sea  for  dainties  more  various  than  this  degen- 
erate age  ever  sees  accumulated  at  a  single  board.  And  the 
epicure  who  has  but  glanced  over  the  elaborate  page  of  Athen- 
aeus  must  own  with  melancholy  self-humiliation  that  the  an- 
cients must  have  earned  the  art  of  flattering  the  palate  to  a 
perfection  as  absolute  as  the  art  which  built  the  Parthenon 
and  sculptured  out  of  gold  and  ivory  the  Olymjiian  Jove, 
But  the  first  course,  with  its  profusion  of  birds,  flesh,  and 


120  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

fishes,  its  marvellous  combinations  of  forced  meats,  and  in- 
ventive poetry  of  sauces,  was  now  over.  And  in  the  interval 
preceding  that  second  course,  in  which  gastronomy  put  forth 
its  most  exquisite  masterpieces,  the  slaves  began  to  remove 
the  tables,  soon  to  be  replaced.  Vessels  of  fragrant  waters, 
in  which  the  banqueters  dipped  their  fingers,  were  handed 
round  ;  perfumes,  which  the  Byzantine  marts  collected  from 
every  clime,  escaped  from  their  precious  receptacles. 

Then  were  distributed  the  garlands.  With  these  each 
guest  crowned  locks  that  streamed  with  odors  ;  and  in  them 
were  combined  the  flowers  that  most  charmed  the  eye,  with 
bud  or  herb  that  most  guards  from  the  head  the  fumes  of  wine  ; 
with  hyacinth  and  flax,  with  golden  asphodel  and  silver  lily, 
the  green  of  ivy  and  parsley  leaf  were  thus  entwined  ;  and 
above  all,  the  rose,  said  to  convey  a  delicious  coolness  to  the 
temples  on  which  it  bloomed.  And  now  for  the  first  time  wine 
came  to  heighten  the  spirits  and  test  the  charm  of  the  garlands. 
Each,  as  the  large  goblets  passed  to  him,  poured  from  the  brim, 
before  it  touched  his  lips,  his  libation  to  the  good  spirit.  And 
as  Antagoras,  rising  first,  set  this  pious  example,  out  from  the 
farther  ends  of  the  hall,  behind  the  fountains,  burst  a  concert 
of  flutes,  and  the  great  Hellenic  Hymn  of  the  Pcean. 

As  this  ceased,  the  fresh  tables  appeared  before  the  ban- 
queters, covered  with  all  the  fruits  in  season,  and  with  those 
triumphs  in  confectioner}'',  of  which  honey  was  the  main  in- 
gredient, that  well  justified  the  favor  in  which  the  Greeks  held 
the  bee. 

Then,  insead  of  the  pure  juice  of  the  grape,  from  which  the 
libation  had  been  poured,  came  the  wines,  mixed  at  least  three 
parts  with  water,  and  deliciously  cooled. 

Up  again  rose  Antagoras,  and  everl  eye  turned  to  him. 

"  Companions,"  said  the  young  Chian,  "  it  is  not  held  in 
free  states  well  for  a  man  to  seize  by  himself  upon  supreme 
authority.  We  deem  that  a  magistracy  should  only  be  obtained 
by  the  votes  of  others.  Nevertheless,  I  venture  to  think  that 
the  latter  plan  does  not  always  insure  to  us  a  good  master.  I 
believe  it  was  by  election  that  we  Greeks  have  given  to  our- 
selves a  generalissimo,  not  contented,  it  is  said,  to  prove  the 
invariable  wisdom  of  that  mode  of  government ;  wherefore  rhis 
seems  an  occasion  to  revive  the  good  custom  of  tyranny.  And 
I  propose  to  do  so  in  my  person  by  proclaiming  myself  Sym- 
posiarch  and  absolute  Promander  in  the  Commonwealth  here 
assembled.     But  if  ye  prefer  the  chance  of  the  die — " 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN:  I2j 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  guests  almost  universally  ;  "  Antago- 
ras,  the  Symposiarch,  we  submit.     Issue  thy  laws." 

"  Hearken,  then,  and  obey.  First,  then,  as  to  the  strength 
of  the  wine.  Behold  the  crater  in  which  there  are  three 
Naiades  to  one  Dionysios.  He  is  a  match  for  them  ;  not  for 
more.  No  man  shall  put  into  his  wine  more  water  than  the 
slaves  have  mixed.  Yet  if  any  man  is  so  diffident  of  the 
god  that  he  thinks  three  Naiades  too  much  for  him,  he  may 
omit  one  or  two,  and  let  the  wine  and  water  fight  it  out  upon 
equal  terms.  So  much  for  the  quality  of  the  drink.  As  to 
quantity,  it  is  a  question  to  be  deliberated  hereafter.  And 
now  this  cup  to  Zeus  the  Preserver." 

The  toast  went  round. 

'*  Music,  and  the  music  of  Lydia  !  "  then  shouted  Antago- 
ras,  and  resumed  his  place  on  the  couch  beside  Uliades. 

The  music  proceeded,  the  wine  circled. 

"  Friend,"  whispered  Uliades  to  the  host,  "  thy  father  left 
thee  wines,  I  know.  But  if  thou  givest  many  banquets  like 
this,  I  doubt  if  thou  wilt  leave  wines  to  thy  son." 

"  I  shall  die  childless,  perhaps,"  answered  the  Chian  ; 
"  and  any  friend  will  give  me  enough  to  pay  Charon's  fee 
across  the  Styx." 

"  That  is  a  melancholy  reflection,"  said  Uliades,  "  and 
there  is  no  subject  of  talk  that  pleases  me  less  than  that 
same  Styx.  Why  dost  thou  bite  thy  lip,  and  choke  the  sigh  ? 
By  the  gods  !  art  thou  not  happy  ?  " 

"  Happy  I  "  repeated  Antagoras,  with  a  bitter  smile. 
"  Oh  yes  !  " 

"  Good.  Cleonice  torments  thee  no  more.  I  myself  have 
gone  through  thy  trials  ;  ay,  and  oftentimes.  Seven  times  at 
Samos,  five  at  Rhodes;  once  at  Miletus,  and  forty-three  times 
at  Corinth,  have  I  been  an  impassioned  and  unsuccessful 
lover.     Courage  ;  I  love  still." 

Antagoras  turned  away.  By  this  time  the  hall  was  yet 
more  crowded,  for  many  not  invited  to  the  supper  came,  as 
was  the  custom  with  the  Greeks,  to  the  Symposium  ;  but  these 
were  all  of  the  Ionian  race. 

"  The  music  is  dull  without  the  dancers,"  cried  the  host. 
"  Ho,  there  !  the  dancing-girls.  Now  would  I  give  all  the 
rest  of  my  wealth  to  see  among  these  girls  one  face  that  yet 
but  for  a  moment  could  make  me  forget — " 

"  Forget  what,  or  whom  1  "  said  Uliades  ;  "  not  Cleonice  ?  " 

"  Man,  man,  wilt  thou  provoke  me  to  strangle  thee  ?  ** 
muttered  Antagoras. 


122  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN: 

Uliades  edged  himself  away. 

"  Ungrateful  !  "  he  cried.  "  What  are  a  hundred  Bvzan- 
tine  girls  to  one  tried  male  friend  ?  " 

*'  I  will  not  be  ungrateful,  Uliades,  if  thou  stand  by  my 
side  against  the  Spartan." 

"  Thou  art,  then,  bent  upon  this  perilous  hazard  ?  " 

"  Bent  on  driving  Pausanias  from  Byzantium,  or  into  Ha- 
des— yes  " 

"  Touch  !  "  said  Uliades,  holding  out  his  right  hand.  "  By 
Cypris,  but  these  girls  dance  like  the  daughters  of  Oceanus  ; 
every  step  undulates  as  a  wave." 

Antagoras  motioned  to  his  cupbearer.  "  Tell  the  leader 
of  that  dancing  choir  to  come  hither."  The  cupbearer 
obeyed. 

A  man  with  a  solemn  air  came  to  the  foot  of  the  Chian's 
couch,  bowing  low.  He  was  an  Eg}'ptian — one  of  the  mean- 
est castes. 

"  Swarthy  friend,"  said  Antagoras,  "  didst  thou  ever  hear 
of  the  Pyrrhic  dance  of  the  Spartans  ?  " 

"  Surely,  of  all  dances  am  I  teacher  and  preceptor." 

"  Your  girls  know  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Somewhat,  from  having  seen  it  ;  but  not  from  practice. 
'Tis  a  male  dance  and  a  warlike  dance,  O  magnanimous,  but, 
in  this  instance,  untutored,  Chian  !  " 

"  Hist,  and  listen."  Antagoras  whispered.  The  Kg\'p- 
tian  nodded  his  head,  returned  to  the  dancing-girls,  and  when 
their  measure  had  ceased,  gathered  them  round  him. 

Antagoras  again  rose. 

"  Companions,  we  are  bound  now  to  do  homage  to  our 
masters — the  pleasant,  affable,  and  familiar  warriors  of 
Sparta." 

At  this  the  guests  gave  way  to  their  applauding  laughter. 

"And,  therefore,  these  delicate  maidens  will  present  to 
us  that  flowing  and  Amathusian  dance  which  the  Graces 
taught  to  Spartan  sinews.     Ho,  there — begin  !  " 

The  Egyptian  had  by  this  time  told  the  dancers  what  they 
were  expected  to  do ;  and  they  came  forward  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  stern  dignity,  the  burlesque  humor  of  which  delighted 
all  those  lively  revellers.  And  when,  with  adroit  mimicr}^, 
their  slight  arms  and  mincing  steps  mocked  that  grand  and 
masculine  measure  so  associated  with  images  of  Spartan 
austerity  and  decorum,  the  exhibition  became  so  humorously 
ludicrous  that  perhaps  a  Spartan  himself  would  have  been 
compelled   to   laugh   at    it.     But  the  merriment  rose  to  its 


PA  us  A  NI AS,   THE  SPARTAN'.  123 

height,  when  the  Egyptian,  who  had  withdrawn  for  a  few 
minutes,  re-appeared  with  a  Median  robe  and  mitred  cap,  and, 
calling  out  in  his  barbarous  African  accent,  "  Way  for  the 
conquerer  ! "  threw  into  his  mien  and  gestures  all  the  like- 
ness to  Pausanias  himself  which  a  practised  mime  and  posture- 
master  could  attain.  The  laughter  of  Antagoras  alone  was 
not  loud — it  was  low  and  sullen,  as  if  sobs  of  rage  were  sti- 
lling it ;  but  his  eye  watched  the  effect  produced,  and  it  an- 
swered the  end  he  had  in  view. 

As  the  dancers  now,  while  the  laughter  was  at  its  loudest 
roar,  vanished  behind  the  draperies,  the  host  rose,  and  his 
countenance  was  severe  and  grave. 

"  Companions,  one  cup  more,  and  let  it  be  to  Harmodius 
and  Aristogiton.  Let  the  song  in  thei-r  honor  come  only 
from  the  lips  of  free  citizens,  of  our  Ionian  comrades.  Ulia- 
des,  begin  !  I  pass  to  thee  a  myrtle  bough  ;  and  under  it  I 
pass  a  sword." 

Then  he  began  the  famous  hymn  ascribed  to  Callistratus, 
commencing  with  a  clear  and  sonorous  voice,  and  the  guests 
repeating  each  stanza  after  him  with  the  enthusiasm  which 
the  words  usually  produced  among  the  Hellenic  republicans  : 

I  in  a  myrtle  bough  the  sword  will  carry, 
As  did  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton  ; 
When  they  the  tyrant  slew, 
And  back  to  Athens  gave  her  equal  laws. 

Thou  art  in  nowise  dead,  best-loved  Harmodius; 
Isles  of  the  Blessed  are,  they  say,  thy  dwelling; 
There  swift  Achilles  dwells, 
And  there,  they  say,  with  thee  dwells  Diomed. 

1  in  a  myrtle  bough  the  sword  will  carry, 
As  did  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton, 
When  to  Athene's  shrine 
They  gave  their  sacrifice — a  tyrant  man. 

Ever  on  earth  for  both  of  you  lives  glory, 
O  loved  Harmodius,  loved  Aristogiton, 
For  ye  the  tyrant  slew, 
And  back  to  Athens  ye  gave  equal  laws. 

When  the  song  had  ceased,  the  dancers,  the  musicians 
the  attendant  slaves,  had  withdrawn  from  the  hall,  dismissed 
by  a  whispered  order  from  Antagoras. 

He,  now  standing  up,  took  from  his  brows  the  floral 
crown,  and,  first  sprinkling  them  with  wine,   replaced  tha 


ra4  PAUSAMTAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

flowers  by  a  wreath  of  poplar.  The  assembly,  a  little  while 
before  so  noisy,  was  hushed  into  attentive  and  earnest  silence. 
The  action  of  Antagoras,  the  expression  of  his  countenance, 
the  exclusion  of  the  slaves,  prepared  all  present  for  some- 
thing more  than  the  convivial  address  of  a  Symposiarch. 

"Men  and  Greeks,"  said  the  Chian,  "  on  the  evening 
before  Teucer  led  his  comrades  in  exile  over  the  wide  waters 
to  found  a  second  Salamis,  he  sprinkled  his  forehead  with 
Lyaean  dews,  being  crowned  with  the  poplar  leaves  — 
emblems  of  hardihood  and  contest ;  and,  this  done,  he 
invited  his  companions  to  dispel  their  cares  for  the  night, 
that  their  hearts  might  with  more  cheerful  hope  and  bolder 
courage  meet  what  the  morrow  might  bring  to  them  on  the 
ocean.  I  imitate  the  ancient  hero,  in  honor  less  of  him  than 
of  the  name  of  Salamis.  We,  too,  have  a  Salamis  to  remem- 
ber, and  a  second  Salamis  to  found.  Can  ye  forget  that,  had 
the  advice  of  the  Spartan  leader  Eurybiades  been  adopted, 
the  victory  of  Salamis  would  never  have  been  achieved  ? 
He  was  for  retreat  to  the  Isthmus  ;  he  was  for  defending 
the  Peloponnese,  because  in  the  Peloponnesus  was  the  un- 
social, selfish  Sparta,  and  leaving  the  rest  of  Hellas  to  the 
armament  of  Xerxes.  Themistocles  spoke  against  the  ignoble 
counsel ;  the  Spartan  raised  his  staff  to  strike  him.  Ye 
know  the  Spartan  manners.  '  Strike  if  you  will,  but  hear 
nie,'  cried  Themistocles.  He  was  heard,  Xerxes  was  de- 
feated, and  Hellas  saved.  I  am  not  Themistocles  ;  nor  is 
there  a  Spartan  staff  to  silence  free  lips.  But  I  too  say, 
Hear  me  !  for  a  new  Salamis  is  to  be  won.  What  was  the 
former  Salamis  ? — the  victory  that  secured  independence  to 
the  Greeks,  and  delivered  them  from  the  Mede  and  the 
Medizing  traitors.  Again  we  must  fight  a  Salamis  Where, 
ye  say,  is  the  Mede  ? — not  at  Byzantium,  it  is  true,  in  person  ; 
but  the  Medizing  traitor  is  here." 

A  profound  sensation  thrilled  through  the  assembly. 

"Enough  of  humility  do  the  maritime  lonians  practice 
when  they  accept  the  hegemony  of  a  Spartan  landsman ; 
enough  of  submission  do  the  free  citizens  of  Hellas  show 
when  they  suffer  the  imperious  Dorian  to  sentence  them  to 
punishments  only  fit  for  slaves.  But  when  the  Spartan  ap- 
pears in  the  robes  of  the  Mede,  when  the  imperious  Do- 
rian places  in  the  government  of  a  city,  which  our  joint  arms 
now  occupy,  a  recreant  who  has  changed  an  Eretrian  birth- 
right for  a  Persian  satrapy ;  when  prisoners,  made  by  the 
valor  of   all   Hellas,  mysteriously  escape    the   care  of  the 


PA  us  AN/AS,   THE  SPARTA  AT.  1 25 

Lacedaemonian,  who  wears  their  garb,  and  imitates  their 
manners — say,  O  ye  Greeks,  O  ye  warriors,  if  there  is  no 
second  Salamis  to  conquer  !  " 

The  animated  words,  and  the  wine  already  drunk,  pro- 
duced on  the  banqueters  an  effect  sudden,  electrical,  uni- 
versal. They  had  come  to  the  hall  gay  revellers  ;  they  were 
prepared  to  leave  the  hall  stern  conspirators. 

Their  hoarse  murmur  was  as  the  voice  of  the  sea  befoie  a 
storm. 

Antagoras  surveyed  them  with  a  fierce  joy,  and,  with  a 
change  of  tone,  thus  continued :  "  Ye  understand  me,  ye 
know  already  that  a  delivery  is  to  be  achieved.  I  pass  on : 
I  submit  to  your  wisdom  the  mode  of  achieving  it.  While  I 
speak,  a  swift-sailing  vessel  bears  to  Sparta  the  complaints  of 
myself,  of  Uliades,  and  of  many  Ionian  captains  here  present, 
against  the  Spartan  General.  And  although  the  Athenian 
chiefs  decline  to  profifer  complaints  of  their  own,  lest  their 
State,  which  has  risked  so  much  for  the  common  cause,  be 
suspected  of  using  the  admiration  it  excites  for  the  purpose 
of  subserving  its  ambition,  yet  Cimon,  the  young  son  of  the 
great  Miltiades,  who  has  ties  of  friendship  and  hospitality 
with  families  of  high  mark  in  Sparta,  has  been  persuaded  to 
add  to  our  public  statement  a  private  letter  to  the  effect  that, 
speaking  for  himself,  not  in  the  name  of  Athens,  he  deems 
our  complaints  justly  founded,  and  the  recall  of  Pausanias 
expedient  for  the  discipline  of  the  armament.  But  can  we 
say  what  effect  this  embassy  may  have  upon  a  sullen  and 
haughty  government ;  against,  too,  a  royal  descendant  of  Her- 
cules ;  against  the  General  who  at  Plataea  flattered  Sparta 
with  a  renown  to  which  her  absence  from  Marathon,  and  her 
meditated  flight  from  Salamis,  gave  but  disputable  preten- 
sions V 

"  And,"  interrupted  Uliades,  rising,  "  and — if,  O  Antago- 
ras, I  may  crave  pardon  for  standing  a  moment  between 
thee  and  thy  guests — and  this  is  not  all,  for  even  if  they  re 
call  Pausanias,  they  may  send  us  another  general  as  bad,  and 
without  the  fame  which  somewhat  reconciles  our  Ionian  pride 
to  the  hegemony  of  a  Dorian.  Now,  whatever  my  quarrel 
with  Pausanias,  I  am  less  against  a  man  than  a  principle.  I 
am  a  seaman,  and  against  the  principle  of  having  for  the 
commander  of  the  Greek  fleet  a  Spartan  w-ho  does  not  know 
how  to  handle  a  sail.  I  am  an  Ionian,  and  against  the  prin- 
ciple of  placing  the  Ionian  race  under  the  imperious  domina- 
tion of  a  Dorian.     The 'ef ore  I  say,  now  is    the  moment   to 


la^  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN-. 

emancipate  our  blood  and  our  ocean — the  one  from  an  alien, 
the  other  from  a  landsman.  And  the  hegemony  of  the 
Spartan  should  pass  away." 

Uliades  sat  down  with  an  applause  more  clamorous  than 
had  greeted  the  eloquence  of  Antagoras,  for  the  pride  of  race 
and  of  special  calling  is  ever  more  strong  in  its  impulses  than 
hatred  to  a  single  man.  And,  despite  of  all  that  could  be 
said  against  Pausanias,  still  these  warriors  felt  awe  for  his 
greatness,  and  remembered  that  at  Plataea,  where  all  were 
brave,  he  had  been  proclaimed  the  bravest. 

Antagoras,  with  the  quickness  of  a  republican  Greek, 
trained  from  earliest  youth  to  sympathy  with  popular  assem- 
blies, saw  that  Uliades  had  touched  the  right  key,  and  swal- 
lowed down  with  a  passionate  gulp  his  personal  wrath  against 
his  rival,  which  might  otherwise  have  been  carried  too  far, 
and  have  lost  him  the  advantage  he  had  gained. 

"  Rightly  and  wisely  speaks  Uliades,"  said  he.  *'  Our 
cause  is  that  of  our  whole  race  ;  and  clear  has  that  true 
Samian  made  it  to  you  all,  O  lonians  and  captains  of  the  seas, 
that  we  must  not  wait  for  the  lordly  answer  Sparta  may  return 
to  our  embassage.  Ye  know  that  while  night  lasts  we  must 
return  to  our  several  vessels  ;  an  hour  more,  and  we  shall  be 
on  deck.  To-morrow  Pausanias  reviews  the  fleet,  and  we 
may  be  some  days  before  we  return  to  land,  and  can  meet  in 
concert.  Whether  to-morrow,  or  later,  the  occasion  for  action 
may  present  itself,  is  a  question  I  would  pray  you  to  leave  to 
those  whom  you  intrust  with  the  discretionarj^  power  to  act." 

"  How  act .''  "  cried  a  Lesbian  officer. 

"  Thus  would  I  suggest,"  said  Antagoras,  with  well-dis- 
sembled humility  :  "  let  the  captains  of  one  or  more  Ionian 
vessels  perform  such  a  deed  of  open  defiance  against  Pausa- 
nias as  leaves  to  them  no  option  between  death  and  success  ; 
having  so  done,  hoist  a  signal,  and,  sailing  at  once  to  the 
Athenian  ships,  place  themselves  under  the  Athenian 
leader ;  all  the  rest  of  the  Ionian  captains  will  then 
follow  their  example.  And  then,  too  numerous  and  too  pow- 
erful to  be  punished  for  a  revolt,  we  shall  proclaim  a  revolu- 
tion, and  declare  that  we  will  all  sail  back  to  our  native 
havens  unless  we  have  the  liberty  of  choosing  our  own  hege- 
mon," 

"  But,"  said  the  Lesbian  who  had  before  spoken,  "  the 
Athenians  as  yet  have  held  back  and  declined  our  overtures, 
and  without  them  we  are  not  strong  enough  to  cope  with  the 
Peloponnesian  allies." 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  127 

"  The  Athenians  will  be  compelled  to  protect  the  lonians, 
if  the  lonians  in  sufficient  force  demand  it,"  said  Uliades. 
"  For  as  we  are  naught  without  them,  they  are  naught  with 
out  us.  Take  the  course  suggested  by  Antagoras  ;  I  advise 
it.  Ye  know  me,  a  plain  man,  but  I  speak  not  without  war- 
rant. And  before  the  Spartans  can  either  contemptuously 
dismiss  our  embassy  or  send  us  out  another  general,  the 
Ionian  will  be  the  mistress  of  the  Hellenic  seas,  and  Sparta, 
tlie  land  of  oligarchies,  will  no  more  have  the  power  to  oligar 
chize  democracy.  Otherwise,  believe  me,  that  power  she  has 
now  from  her  hegemony,  and  that  power,  whenever  it  suit 
her,  she  will  use." 

Uliades  was  chiefly  popular  in  the  fleet  as  a  rough,  good 
seaman,  as  a  blunt  and  somewhat  vulgar  humorist.  But 
whenever  he  gave  advice,  the  advice  carried  with  it  a  weight 
not  always  bestowed  upon  superior  genuis,  because,  from  the 
ver)'  commonness  of  his  nature,  he  reached  at  the  common 
sense  and  the  common  feelings  of  those  whom  he  addressed. 
He  spoke,  in  short,  what  an  ordinary  man  thought  and  felt. 
He  was  a  practical  man,  brave,  but  not  overaudacious,  not 
likely  to  run  himself  or  others  into  idle  dangers ;  and  when 
he  said  he  had  a  warrant  for  his  advice,  he  was  believed  to 
speak  from  his  knowledge  of  the  course  which  the  Athenian 
chiefs,  Aristides  and  Cimon,  would  pursue  if  the  plan  recom- 
mended were  actively  executed. 

"  I  am  convinced,"  said  the  Lesbian.  "  And  since  all 
are  grateful  to  Athens  for  that  final  stand  against  the  Mede, 
to  which  all  Greece  owes  her  liberties,  and  since  the  chief  of 
her  armaments  here  is  a  man  of  so  modest  a  virtue,  and  so 
clement  a  justice,  as  we  all  acknowledge  in  Aristides,  fitting 
is  it  for  us  lonians  to  constitute  Athens  the  maritime  sov- 
ereign of  our  race." 

"  Are  ye  all  of  that  mind  .? "  cried  Antagoras,  and  was  an- 
swered by  the  universal  shout,  "  We  are — all  !  "  or  if  the 
shout  was  not  universal,  none  heeded  the  few  whom  fear  or 
prudence  might  keep  silent.  "  All  that  remains,  then,  is  to 
appoint  the  captain  who  shall  hazard  the  first  danger  and 
make  the  first  signal.  For  my  part,  as  one  of  the  electors,  I 
give  my  vote  for  Uliades,  and  this  is  my  ballot."  He  took 
from  his  temples  the  poplar  wreath,  and  cast  it  into  a  silver 
vase  on  the  tripod  placed  before  him. 

"  Uliades  by  acclamation  !  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  I  accept,"  said  the  Ionian  ,  "  and  as  Ulysses,  a  prudent 
man,  asked  for  a  colleague  in  enterprises  of  danger,  so  I 


128  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTANS 

ask  for  a  companion  in  the  hazard  I  undertake,  and  I  select 
Antagoras." 

This  choice  received  the  same  applauding  acquiescence 
as  that  which  had  greeted  the  nomination  of  the  Ionian. 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  applause  was  heard  without  the 
sharp,  shrill  sound  of  the  Phrygian  pipe. 

"  Comrades,"  said  Antagoras,  "  ye  hear  the  summons  to 
our  ships  ?  Our  boats  are  waiting  at  the  steps  of  the  quay,  by 
the  Temple  of  Neptune.  Two  sentences  more,  and  then  to 
sea.  First,  silence  and  fidelity  ;  the  finger  to  the  lip,  the 
right  hand  raised  to  Zeus  Horkios.  For  a  pledge,  here  is 
an  oath.  Secondly,  be  this  the  signal  :  whenever  ye  shall 
see  Uliades  and  myself  steer  our  triremes  out  of  the  line  in 
which  they  may  be  marshalled,  look  forth  and  watch,  breath- 
less ;  and  the  instant  you  perceive  that  beside  our  flags  of 
Samos  and  Chios  we  hoist  the  ensign  of  Athens,  draw  off 
from  your  stations,  and  follow  the  wake  of  our  heels,  to  the 
Athenian  navy.  Then,  as  the  gods  direct  us.  Hark  !  a  sec- 
ond time  shrills  the  fife." 


CHAPTER  V 


At  the  very  hour  when  the  Ionian  captains  were  hurrying 
toward  their  boats  Pausanias  was  pacing  his  decks  alone, 
with  irregular  strides,  and  through  the  cordage  and  the  masts 
the  starshine  came  fitfully  on  his  troubled  features.  Long 
undecided  he  paused,  as  the  waves  sparkled  to  the  stroke  of 
oars,  and  beheld  the  boats  of  the  feasters  making  towards  the 
division  of  the  fleet  in  which  lay  the  navy  of  the  isles.  Farther 
on,  remote  and  still,  anchored  the  ships  of  Athens.  He 
clenched  his  hand,  and  turned  from  the  sight. 

"  To  lose  an  empire,"  he  muttered,  "  and  without  a  strug- 
gle ;  an  empire  over  yon  mutinous  rivals,  over  yon  happy 
and  envied  Athens  ;  an  empire — where  its  limits  ? — if  Asia 
puts  her  armies  to  my  lead,  why  should  not  Asia  be  Hellen- 
ized,  rather  than  Hellas  be  within  the  tribute  of  the  Mede  } 
Dull,  dull,  stolid  Sparta  !  methinks  I  could  pardon  the  slavery 
thou  inflictest  on  my  life,  didst  thou  but  leave  unshackled 
my  intelligence.  But  each  vast  scheme  to  be  thwarted,  every 
thought  for  thine  own  aggrandizement  beyond  thy  barren 


PAUSAAVAS.   THE  SPARTAN.  129 

rocks,  met  and  inexorably  baffled  by  a  selfish  aphorism,  a 
cramping  saw — '  Sparta  is  wide  eno'  for  vSpartans.' — '  Ocean 
is  the  element  of  the  fickle.' — '  What  matters  the  ascendency 
of  Athens  ? — it  does  not  cross  the  Isthmus.' — '  Venture  noth- 
ing where  I  want  nothing."  Why,  this  is  the  soul's  prison  ! 
Ah,  had  I  been  born  Athenian,  I  had  never  uttered  a  thought 
against  my  country.  She  and  I  would  have  expanded  and 
aspired  together." 

Thus  arguing  with  himself,  he  at  length  confirmed  his 
resolve,  and  with  a  steadfast  step  entered  his  pavilion. 
There,  not  on  broidered  cushions,  but  by  preference  on  the 
hard  floor,  without  coverlet,  lay  Lysander  calmly  sleeping, 
his  crimson  warlike  cloak,  weather-stained,  partially  wrapped 
around  him  ;  no  pillow  to  his  head  but  his  own  right  arm. 

By  the  light  of  the  lamp  that  stood  within  the  pavilion, 
Pausanias  contemplated  the  slumberer. 

"  He  says  he  loves  me,  and  yet  can  sleep,"  he  murmured, 
bitterly.  Then,  seating  himself  before  a  table,  he  began  to 
write,  with  slowness  and  precision,  whether  as  one  not  accus- 
tomed to  the  task  or  weighing  every  word. 

When  he  had  concluded,  he  again  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
sleeper.  "  How  tranquil  !  Was  my  sleep  ever  as  serene  ? 
I  will  not  disturb  him  to  the  last." 

The  fold  of  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  Alcman  en- 
tered noiselessly. 

"  Thou  hast  obeyed  ?  "  whispered  Pausanias. 
"  Yes ;  the   ship  is  ready,  the  wind  favors.     Hast  thou 
decided  ? " 

"  I  have,"  said  Pausanias,  with  compressed  lips. 
He   rose,  and  touched   Lysander  lightly,  but  the   touch 
sufficed  ;  the  sleeper  woke  on  the  instant,  casting  aside  slum- 
ber easily  as  a  garment. 

"  My  Pausanias,"  said  the  young  Spartan,  "  I  am  at  thine 
orders — shall  I  go  ?  Alas  !  I  read  thine  eye,  and  I  shall 
leave  thee  in  peril." 

"  Greater  peril  in  the  council  of  the  Ephors  and  in  the 
babbling  lips  of  the  hoary  Gerontes  than  amidst  the  meeting 
of  armaments.  Thou  wilt  take  this  letter  to  the  Ephors.  I 
have  said  in  it  but  little  ;  I  have  said  that  I  confide  my  cause 
to  thee.  Remember  that  thou  insist  on  the  disgrace  to  me 
— the  Heracleid,  and  through  me  to  Sparta,  that  my  recall 
would  occasion  ;  remember  that  thou  prove  that  my  alleged 
harshness  is  but  necessary  to  the  discipline  that  preserves 
armies,  and  to  the  ascendency  of  Spartan  rule.     And  as  to  the 


130  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 

idle  tale  of  Persian  prisoners  escaped,  why  thou  knowest 
how  even  the  Ionian  could  make  nothing  of  that  charge. 
Crowd  all  sail,  strain  every  oar ;  no  ship  in  the  fleet  so  swift 
as  that  which  bears  thee.  I  care  not  for  the  few  hours'  start 
the  tale-bearers  have.  Our  Spartan  for-n.s  are  slow :  tbey  can 
scarce  have  an  audience  ere  thou  leach.  The  gods  speed  and 
guard  thee,  beloved  friend.  With  thee  goes  all  the  future  of 
Pausanias." 

Lysander  grasped  his  hand  in  a  silence  more  eloquent 
than  words,  and  a  tear  fell  on  that  hand  which  he  clasped. 
"  Be  not  ashamed  of  it,"  he  said  then,  as  he  turned  away  and, 
wrapping  his  cloak  round  his  face,  left  the  pavilion.  Alcman 
followed,  lowered  a  boat  from  the  side,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  Spartan  and  the  Mothon  were  on  the  sea.  The  boat  made 
to  a  vessel  close  at  hand — a  vessel  built  in  Cyprus,  manned  by 
Bithynians  ;  its  sails  were  all  up  but  it  bore  no  flag.  Scarcely 
had  Lysander  climbed  the  deck  when  it  heaved  to  and  fro  sway- 
ing as  the  anchor  was  drawn  up,  then,  righting  itself,  sprang 
forward,  like  a  hound  unleashed  for  the  chase.  Pausanias, 
with  folded  arms,  stood  on  the  deck  of  his  own  vessel,  gazing 
after  it,  gazing  long,  till  shooting  far  beyond  the  fleet,  far  to- 
ward the  melting  line  between  sea  and  sky,  it  grew  less  and 
lesser  ;  and  as  the  twilight  dawned,  it  had  faded  into  space. 

The  Heracleid  turned  to  Alcman,  who,  after  he  had  con- 
veyed Lysander  to  the  ship,  had  regained  his  master's  side. 

"  What  thinkest  thou,  Alcman,  will  be  the  result  of  all 
this  > " 

"  The  emancipation  of  the  Helots,"  said  the  Mothon, 
quietly.  "  The  Athenians  are  too  near  thee  ;  tlie  Persians 
are  too  far.  Wouldst  thou  have  armies  Sparta  can  neither 
give  nor  take  away  from  thee,  bind  to  thee  a  race  by  the 
strongest  of  human  ties — make  them  see  in  thy  power  the 
necessary  condition  of  their  freedom." 

Pausanias  made  no  answer.  He  turned  within  his  pavilion, 
and  flinging  himself  down  on  the  same  spot  from  which  he  had 
disturbed  Lysander,  said,  "  Sleep  here  was  so  kind  to  him  that 
ii  may  linger  where  he  left  it.  I  have  two  hours  yet  for  obliv- 
ion before  the  sun  rise." 


FA  USA  NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  131 


CHAPTER  VI. 

If  we  were  enabled  minutely  to  examine  the  mental  or« 
ganization  of  men  who  have  risked  great  dangers,  whether  by 
the  impulse  of  virtue  or  in  the  perpetration  <A  crime,  we  sltould 
probably  find  therein  a  large  preponderance  of  hope.  By 
that  preponderance  we  should  account  for  those  heroic  designs 
which  would  annihilate  prudence  as  a  calculator,  did  not  a 
sanguine  confidence  in  the  results  produce  special  energies  to 
achieve  them,  and  thus  create  a  prudence  of  its  own,  being,  as 
it  were,  the  self-conscious  admeasurement  of  the  diviner 
strength  which  justified  the  preterhuman  spring.  Nor  less 
should  we  account  by  the  same  cause  for  that  audacity  which 
startles  us  in  criminals  on  a  colossal  scale,  which  blinds  them 
to  the  risks  of  detection,  and  often  at  the  bar  of  justice,  while 
the  evidences  that  insure  condemnation  are  thickening  round 
them,  with  the  persuasion  of  acquittal  or  escape.  Hope  is 
thus  alike  the  sublime  inspirer  or  the  arch  corrupter  ;  it  is  the 
foe  of  terror,  the  defier  of  consequences,  the  buoyant  gamester 
which  at  every  loss  doubles  the  stakes,  with  a  firm  hand  rattles 
the  dice,  and,  invoking  ruin,  cries  within  itself,  "  How  shall  I 
expend  the  gain  ?  " 

In  the  character,  therefore,  of  a  man  like  Pausanias,  risk- 
ing so  much  glory,  daring  so  much  peril,  strong  indeed  must 
have  been  this  sanguine  motive  power  of  human  action.  Nor 
is  a  large  and  active  development  of  hope  incompatible  with 
a  temperament  habitually  grave  and  often  profoundly  melan- 
choly. For  hope  itself  is  often  engendered  by  disconten., 
A  vigorous  nature  keenly  susceptible  to  joy,  and  deprived  of 
the  possession  of  the  joy  it  yearns  for  by  circumstances  that 
surround  it  in  the  present,  is  goaded  on  by  its  impatience 
and  dissatisfaction  ;  it  hopes  for  the  something  x  has  not  got, 
indifferent  to  the  things  it  possesses,  and  saddened  by  the 
want  which  it  experiences.  And  therefore  it  has  been  well 
said  by  philosophers  that  real  happiness  would  exclude  desire  ; 
in  other  words  not  only  at  the  gate  of  hell,  but  at  the  porch 
of  heaven,  he  who  entered  would  leave  hope  behind  him.  For 
perfect  bliss  is  but  supreme  content.  And  if  content  could 
say  to  itself,  "  But  I  hope  for  something  more,"  it  would  de- 
stroy its  own  existence. 


132  PAUSANIA^;,   THE  SPARTAN-. 

From  his  brief  slumber  the  Spartan  rose  refreshed.  The 
inimpets  were  sounding  near  him,  and  the  very  sound  bright- 
ened his  aspect,  and  animated  his  spirits. 

Agreeable  to  orders  he  had  given  the  night  before,  the 
anchor  was  raised,  the  rowers  were  on  their  benches,  the 
Hbationto  the  Carnean  Apollo,  under  whose  special  protection 
the  ship  was  placed,  had  been  poured  forth,  and  with  the  ris 
mg  sea  and  to  the  blare  of  trumpets  the  gorgeous  trireme 
moved  forth  from  the  bay. 

It  moved,  as  the  trumpets  ceased,  to  the  note  of  a  sweeter, 
but  not  less  exciting,  music.  For,  according  to  Hellenic 
custom,  to  the  rowers  was  allotted  a  musician,  with  whose 
harmony  their  oars,  when  first  putting  forth  to  sea,  kept  time. 
And  on  this  occasion  Alcman  superseded  the  wonted  per- 
former by  his  own  more  popular  song  and  the  melody  of  his 
richer  voice.  Standing  by  the  mainmast,  and  holding  the 
large  harp,  which  was  stricken  by  the  quill,  its  strings  being 
deepened  by  a  sounding-board,  he  chanted  an  lo  Paean  to  the 
Dorian  god  of  light  and  poesy.  The  harp  at  stated  intervals 
was  supported  by  a  burst  of  flutes,  and  the  burden  of  the  verse 
was  caught  up  by  the  rowers  as  in  chorus.  Thus,  far  and 
wide  over  the  shining  waves,  went  forth  the  hymn. 

lo,  lo  Paean  !  slowly.     Song  and  oar  must  chime  together : 
lo,  lo  Paean  !  by  what  title  call  Apollo.? 
Clarian.?  Xanthian  ?  Boedromian  .' 
Countless  are  thy  names,  Apollo. 
lo  Carnee,  lo  Carnee  ? 
By  the  margent  of  Eurotas, 
'Neath  the  shadows  of  Taygetus, 
Thee  the  sons  of  Lacedsemon 
Name  Carneus.     lo,  lo  ! 
lo  Carnee  !     lo  Carnee  ! 

lo,  lo  Paean  !  quicker.    Song  and  voice  must  chime  together  : 
lo  Pjean  !  lo  Paean  !     King  Apollo,  lo,  lo  I 
lo  Carnee ! 

For  thine  altars  do  the  seasons 
Paint  the  tributary  flowers, 
Spring  thy  hyacinth  restores, 
Summer  greets  thee  with  the  rose, 
Autumn  the  blue  Cyane  mingles 
With  the  coronals  of  corn. 
And  in  every  wreath  thy  laurel 
Weaves  its  everlasting  green. 
lo  Carnee  !  lo  Carnee  ! 
For  the  brows  Apollo  favors 
Spring  and  winter  does  the  laurel 
Weave  its  everlasting  green. 


"33 


PAUSANIAS.   THE  SPARTAN. 

lo,  lo  Psean  !  louder.     Voice  and  oar  must  chime  together  : 

For  the  brows  Apollo  favors 
Even  Ocean  bears  the  laure.. 
Id  Carnee  !  lo  ("arnee  ! 

lo,  lo  Pasan  !  stronger.     Strong  are  those  who  win  the  laurel. 

As  the  ship  of  the  Spartan  commander  thus  bore  out  to 
sea,  the  other  vessels  of  the  armament  had  been  gradually 
forming  themselves  into  a  crescent,  preserving  still  the  ordei 
in  which  the  allies  maintained  their  several  contributions  to 
the  fleet,  the  Athenian  ships  at  the  extreme  end  occupying 
the  right  wing,  the  Peloponnesians  massed  together  at  the 
left. 

The  Chian  galleys  adjoined  the  Samian  ;  for  Uliades  and 
Antagoras  had  contrived  that  their  ships  should  be  close  to 
each  other,  so  that  they  might  take  counsel  at  any  moment 
and  act  in  concert. 

And  now  when  the  fleet  had  thus  opened  its  arms,  as  it 
were,  to  receive  the  commander,  the  great  trireme  of  Pau- 
sanias  began  to  veer  round,  and  to  approach  the  half  moon 
of  the  expanded  armament.  On  it  came,  with  its  beaked 
prow,  like  a  falcon  swooping  down  on  some  array  of  the 
lesser  birds. 

From  the  stern  hung  a  gilded  shield  and  a  crimson 
pennon.  The  heavy-armed  soldiers  in  their  Spartan  mail 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  vessel,  and  the  sun  shone  full 
upon  their  armor. 

"  By  Pallas  the  guardian,"  said  Cimon,  "  it  is  the  Athe- 
nian vessels  that  the  strategus  honors  with  his  first  visit." 

And  indeed  the  Spartan  galley  now  came  alongside  that 
of  Aristides,  the  admiral  of  the  Athenian  navy. 

The  soldiers  on  board  the  former  gave  way  on  either 
side.  And  a  murmur  of  admiration  circled  through  the 
Athenian  ship,  as  Pausanias  suddenly  appeared.  For,  as  if 
bent  that  day  on  either  awing  mutiny  or  conciliating  the 
discontented,  the  Spartan  chief  had  wisely  laid  aside  the 
wondrous  Median  robes.  He  stood  on  her  stern  in  the 
aimor  he  had  worn  at  Plattea,  resting  one  hand  upon  his 
shield,  which  itself  rested  on  the  deck.  His  head  alone 
was  uncovered,  his  long  sable  locks  gathered  up  into  a  knot, 
in  the  Spartan  fashion,  a  crest,  as  it  were,  in  itself  to  that 
lofty  head.  And  so  imposing  were  his  whole  air  and  car- 
riage, that  Cimon,  gazing  at  him,  muttered,  "  What  profane 
hand  will  dare  to  rob  that  demi-god  of  command  ?  " 


J34  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN- 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Pausanias  came  on  board  the  vessel  of  the  Athenian 
admiral,  attended  by  the  five  Spartan  chiefs  who  have  been 
mentioned  before  as  the  warlike  companions  assigned  to 
him.  He  relaxed  the  haugJity  demeanor  which  had  given 
so  much  displeasure,  adopting  a  tone  of  marked  courtesy. 
He  spoke  with  high  and  merited  praise  of  the  seamen-like 
appearance  of  the  Athenian  crews,  and  the  admirable  build 
and  equipment  of  their  vessels. 

"Pity  only,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  that  we  have  no  Persians 
on  the  ocean  now,  and  that  instead  of  their  visiting  us  we 
must  go  in  search  of  them." 

"  Would  that  be  wise  on  our  part  ?  "  said  Aristides.  "  Is 
not  Greece  large  enough  for  Greeks  ?  " 

"  Greece  has  not  done  growing,"  answered  the  Spartan  ; 
"  and  the  gods  forbid  that  she  should  do  so.  When  man 
ceases  to  grow  in  height  he  expands  in  bulk  ;  when  he  stops 
there  too,  the  frame  begins  to  stoop,  the  muscles  to  shrink, 
the  skin  to  shrivel,  and  decrepit  old  age  steals  on.  I  have 
heard  it  said  of  the  Athenians  that  they  think  nothing  done 
while  aught  remains  to  do.  Is  it  not  truly  said,  worthy  son 
of  Miltiades  ?  " 

Cimon  bowed  his  head.  "  General,  I  can  not  disavow  the 
sentiment.  But  if  Greece  entered  Asia,  would  it  not  be  as 
a  river  that  runs  into  a  sea  ?  it  expands,  and  is  merged." 

"  The  river,  Cimon,  may  lose  the  sweetness  of  its  wave, 
and  take  the  brine  of  the  sea.  But  the  Greek  can  never  lose 
the  flavor  of  the  Greek  genius  ;  and  could  he  penetrate  the  uni- 
verse, the  universe  would  be  Hellenized.  But  if,  O  Athenian 
chiefs,  ye  judge  that  we  have  now  done  all  that  is  needful  to 
protect  Athens,  and  awe  the  Barbarian,  ye  must  be  long- 
ing to  retire  from  the  armament  and  return  to  your  homes." 

"  When  it  is  fit  that  we  should  return,  we  shall  be  re- 
called," said  Aristides,  quietly. 

"  What,  is  your  state  so  unerring  in  its  judgment .-'  Expe- 
'■ienco  does  not  permit  me  to  think  so,  for  it  ostracizes  Aris- 
tides." 

"  An  honor,"  replied  the  Athenian,  "  that  I  did  not  de- 
serve, but  an  action  that,  had  I   been  the   adviser  of  those 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTA.V.  135 

who  sent  me  forth,  I  should  have  opposed  as  too  lenient. 
Instead  of  ostracizing  me,  they  should  have  cast  both  myself 
and  Themistocles  into  the  Barathrum." 

"  You  speak  with  true  Attic  honor,  and  I  comprehend 
that  where,  in  commonwealths  constituted  like  yours,  party 
runs  high,  and  the  state  itself  is  shaken,  ostracism  may  be  a 
necessarv  tribute  to  the  verv  virtues  that  attract  the  zeal  ol 
a  party  and  imperil  the  equality  ye  so  prize.  But  what  can  com- 
pensate to  a  state  for  the  evil  of  depriving  itself  of  its  great- 
est citizens  ?  " 

"  Peace  and  freedom,"  said  Aristides.  "  If  you  would 
have  the  young  trees  thrive,  you  must  not  let  one  tree  be  so 
large  as  to  overshadow  them.  Ah,  General,  at  Plataea," 
added  the  Athenian,  in  a  benignant  whisper,  for  the  grand 
image  before  him  moved  his  heart  with  a  mingled  feeling  of 
generous  admiration  and  prophetic  pity — "  ah,  pardon  me  if 
I  remind  thee  of  the  ring  of  Polycrates,  and  say  that  Fortune 
is  a  queen  that  requires  tribute.  Man  should  tremble  most 
when  most  seemingly  fortune-favored,  and  guard  most 
against  a  fall  when  his  rise  is  at  the  highest." 

"  But  it  is  only  at  its  highest  flight  that  the  eagle  is  safe 
from  the  arrow,"  answered  Pausanias. 

"  And  the  nest  the  eagle  has  forgotten  in  her  soaring  is 
the  most  exposed  to  the  spoiler." 

"  Well,  my  nest  is  in  rocky  Sparta  ;  hardy  the  spoiler  who 
ventures  thither.  Yet,  to  descend  from  these  speculative 
comparisons,  it  seems  that  thou  hast  a  friendly  and  meaning 
purpose  in  thy  warnings.  Thou  knowest  that  there  are  in 
this  armament  men  who  grudge  to  me  whatever  I  now  owe 
to  Fortune  ;  who  would  topple  me  from  the  height  to  which 
I  did  not  climb,  but  was  led  by  the  congregated  Greeks  ;  and 
who,  while,  perhaps,  they  are  forging  arrow-heads  for  the 
eagle,  have  sent  to  place  poison  and  a  snare  in  its  distant 
nest.  So  the  Nausicaa  is  on  a  voyage  to  S]Darta,  conveying 
to  the  Ephors  complaint  against  me — complaints  from  men 
who  fought  by  my  side  against  the  Mede  !  " 

"  I  have  heard  that  a  Cyprian  vessel  left  yesterday,  bound 
to  Laconia.  I  have  heard  that  it  does  bear  men  charged  by 
some  of  the  lonians  with  representations  unfavorable  to  the 
continuance  of  thy  command.  It  bears  none  from  me  as  the 
Nauarchus  of  the  Athenians.     But — " 

"  But— what  ?  " 

"  But  I  have  complained  to  thyself,  Pausanias,  in  vain." 

"  Hast  thou  complained  of  late,  and  in  vain  ?  " 


136  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

«  Nay." 

"  Honest  men  may  err.  If  they  amend,  do  just  men  con* 
tinue  to  accuse  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  accuse,  Pausanias  ;  I  but  imply  that  those  who 
do  may  have  a  cause  ;  but  it  will  be  heard  before  a  tribunal 
of  thine  own  countrymen,  and  doubtless  thou  hast  sent  to  the 
tribunal  those  who  may  meet  the  charge  on  thy  behalf." 

"  Well,"  said  Pausanias,  still  preserving  his  studied  ur- 
banity and  lofty  smile,  "  even  Agamemnon  and  Achilles  quar- 
elled;  but  Greece  took  Troy  not  the  less.  And,  at  least, 
since  Aristides  does  not  denounce  me,  if  I  have  committed 
even  worse  faults  than  Agamemnon,  I  have  not  made  an  ene- 
my of  Achilles.  And  if,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  if  some 
of  these  lonians,  not  waiting  for  the  return  of  their  envoys, 
openly  mutiny,  they  must  be  treated  as  Thersites  was." 
Then  he  hurried  on  quickly,  for,  observing  that  Cimon's  brow 
lowered  and  his  lips  quivered,  he  desired  to  cut  off  all  words 
that  might  lead  to  altercation. 

"  But  I  have  a  request  to  ask  of  the  Athenian  Nauarchus. 
Will  you  gratify  myself  and  the  fleet  by  putting  your  Athenian 
triremes  into  play  ?  Your  seamen  are  so  famous  for  their 
manoeuvres  that  they  might  furnish  us  with  sports  of  more 
grace  and  agility  than  do  the  Lydian  dancers.  Landsman 
though  I  be,  no  sight  more  glads  mine  eye  than  these  sea- 
lions  of  pine  and  brass,  bounding  under  the  yoke  of  their 
tamers.  I  presume  not  to  give  thee  instructions  what  to  per- 
form. Who  can  dictate  to  the  seamen  of  Salamis  ?  But 
when  your  ships  have  played  out  their  martial  sport,  let  them 
exchange  stations  with  the  Peloponnesian  vessels,  and  occupy 
for  the  present  the  left  of  the  armament.     Ye  object  not  ?  " 

"  Place  us  where  thou  wilt,  as  was  said  to  thee  at  Platsea," 
answered  Aristides. 

"  1  now  leave  ye  to  prepare,  Athenians,  and  greet  ye, 
saying.  The  Good  to  the  Beautiful." 

"  A  wondrous  presence  for  a  Greek  commander  !  "  said 
Cimon,  as  Pausanias  again  stood  on  the  stern  of  his  own  ves- 
sel, which  moved  off  toward  the  ships  of  the  Islands. 

"  And  no  mean  capacity,"  returned  Aristides.  "  See  you 
not  his  object  in  transplacing  us  ?  " 

"  Ha,  truly  ;  in  case  of  mutiny  on  board  the  Ionian  ships, 
he  separates  them  from  Athens.  But  woe  to  him  if  he  thinks 
in  his  heart  that  an  Ionian  is  a  Thersites,  to  be  silenced  by 
the  blow  of  a  sceptre.  Meanwhile  let  the  Greeks  see  what 
manner  of  seaman  are  the  Athenians.     Methinks  this  game 


PA  us  AN/ AS,  THE  SPARTA  fT. 


137 


ordained  to  us  is  a  contest  before  Neptune,  and  for  a  crown." 

Pausanias  bore  right  on  toward  the  vessels  from  the 
^gean  Isles.  Their  masts  and  prows  were  heavy  with  gar- 
lands, but  no  music  sounded  from  their  decl-:s,  no  welcoming 
shout  from  their  crews. 

"  Son  of  Cleombrotus,"  said  the  prudent  Erasinidas, 
"sullen  dogs  bite.  Unwise  the  stranger  who  trusts  himself 
to  their  kennel.  Pass  not  to  those  triremes  ;  let  the  captains, 
if  thou  wantest  them,  come  to  thee." 

Pausanias  replied,  '•  Dogs  fear  the  steady  eye  and  spring 
at  the  recreant  back.  Helmsman,  steer  to  yonder  ship  with 
the  olive-tree  on  the  parasemon,  and  the  image  of  Bacchus 
on  the  guardian  standard.  It  is  the  ship  of  Antagoras,  the 
Chian  captain." 

Pausanias  turned  to  his  warlike  Five.  "  This  time,  for- 
give me,  I  go  alone."  And  before  their  natural  Spartan 
slowness  enabled  them  to  combat  this  resolution,  their  leader 
was  by  the  side  of  his  rival,  alone  in  the  Chian  vessel,  and 
surrounded  by  his  sworn  foes. 

"  Antagoras,"  said  the  Spartan,  "  a  Chian  seaman's  ship 
Is  his  dearest  home.  I  stand  on  thy  deck  as  at  thy  hearth, 
and  ask  thy  hospitality ;  a  crust  of  thy  honeyed  bread,  and  a 
cup  of  thy  Chian  wine.  For  from  thy  ship  I  would  see  the 
Athenian  vessels  go  through  their  nautical  gymnastics." 

The  Chian  turned  pale  and  trembled  ;  his  vengeance  was 
braved  and  foiled.  He  was  powerless  against  the  man  who 
trusted  to  his  honor,  and  asked  to  break  of  his  bread  and 
drink  of  his  cup.  Pausanias  did  not  appear  to  heed  the  embar- 
rassment of  his  unwilling  host,  but,  turning  round,  addressed 
some  careless  words  to  the  soldiers  on  the  raised  central 
platform,  and  then  quietly  seated  himself,  directing  his  eyes 
toward  the  Athenian  ships.  Upon  these  all  the  sails  were 
now  lowered.  In  nice  manoeuvres  the  seamen  preferred 
trusting  to  their  oars.  Presently  one  vessel  started  forth,  and 
with  a  swiftness  that  seemed  to  increase  at  everj^  stroke. 

A  table  was  brought  upon  deck  and  placed  before  Pau- 
sanias, and  the  slaves  began  to  serve  to  him  such  light  food 
as  sufficed  to  furnish  the  customary  meal  of  the  Greeks  in 
the  earlier  forenoon. 

"  But  where  is  mine  host  ?  "  asked  the  Spartan.  "  Does 
Antagoras  himself  not  deign  to  share  a  meal  with  his  guest  ?  " 

On  receiving  the  message,  Antagoras  had  no  option  but 
to  come  forward.     The   Spartan  eyed  him  deliberately,  and 


138  PA  us  A  NT  AS,    THE  SPARTAN. 

the  young  Chian  felt  with  secret  rage  the  magic  of  that  com- 
manding eye. 

Pausanias  motioned  to  him  to  be  seated,  making  room 
beside  himself.     The  Chian  silently  obeyed. 

"  Antagoras,"  said  the  Spartan,  in  a  low  voice,  "  thou  art 
doubtless  one  of  those  who  have  already  infringed  the  laws 
t>i  military  discipline  and  obedience.  Interrupt  me  not  yet. 
A  vessel,  without  waiting  my  permission,  has  left  the  fleet 
ivith  accusations  against  me,  thy  commander  ;  of  what  nature 
I  am  not  even  advised.  Thou  wilt  scarcely  deny  that  thou 
art  one  of  those  who  sent  forth  the  ship  and  shared  in  the 
accusations.  Yet  I  had  thought  that  if  I  had  ever  merited 
thine  ill-will,  there  had  been  reconciliation  between  us  in  the 
council-hall.  What  has  chanced  since  ?  Why  shouldst  thou 
hate  me  }     Speak  frankly,  frankly  have  I  spoken  to  thee." 

"  General,"  replied  Antagoras,  "  there  is  no  hegemony 
over  men's  hearts  ;  thou  sayest  truly,  as  man  to  man,  I  hate 
thee.  Wherefore  ?  Because,  as  man  to  man,  thou  standest 
between  me  and  happiness.  Because  thou  wooest,  and  canst 
only  woo  to  dishonor,  the  virgin  in  whom  I  would  seek  the 
sacred  wife." 

Pausanias  slightly  recoiled,  and  the  courtesy  he  had  sim- 
ulated, and  which  was  essentially  foreign  to  his  vehement 
and  haughty  character,  fell  from  him  like  a  mask.  For 
with  the  words  of  Antagoras,  jealousy  passed  within  him, 
and  for  the  moment  its  agony  was  such  that  the  Chian  was 
avenged.  But  he  was  too  habituated  to  the  stateliness  of 
self-control  to  give  vent  to  the  rage  that  seized  him.  He 
only  said,  with  a  whitened  and  writhing  lip,  "  Thou  art  right : 
All  animosities  may  yield,  save  those  which  a  woman's  eye 
can  kindle.  Thou  hatest  me — be  it  so — that  is  as  man  to 
man.  But  as  officer  to  chieftain,  I  bid  thee  henceforth  be- 
ware how  thou  givest  me  cause  to  set  this  foot  on  the  head 
that  lifts  itself  to  the  height  of  mine." 

With  that  he  rose,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  toward 
the  stern,  where  he  stood  apart,  gazing  on  the  Athenian 
triremes,  which  by  this  time  were  in  the  broad  sea.  And 
all  the  eyes  in  the  fleet  were  turned  toward  that  exhibition. 
For  marvellous  were  the  ease  and  beauty  with  which  these 
ships  went  through  their  nautical  movements  :  now  as  in 
chase  of  each  other  ;  now  approaching  as  in  conflict,  veering 
off,  darting  aside,  threading,  as  it  were,  a  harmonious  maze, 
gliding  in  and  out,  here,  there,  with  the  undulous  celerity  of 
the  serpent.     The  admirable  build  of  the  ships  ;  the  perfect 


PA  us  A  NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN:  139 

skill  of  the  seamen  ;  the  noiseless  docility  and  instinctive 
comprehension  by  which  they  seemed  to  seize  and  to  obey 
the  unforeseen  signals  of  their  Admiral — all  struck  the  lively 
Greeks  that  beheld  the  display,  and  universal  was  the  thought, 
if  not  the  murmur,  There  was  the  power  that  should  command 
tlie  Grecian  seas. 

Pausanias  was  too  much  accustomed  to  the  sway  of 
masses  not  to  have  acquired  that  electric  knowledge  of  what 
circles  among  them  from  breast  to  breast,  to  which  habit 
gives  the  quickness  of  an  instinct.  He  saw  that  he  had  com- 
mitted an  imprudence,  and  that  in  seeking  to  divert  a  mutiny 
he  had  incurred  a  yet  greater  peril. 

He  returned  to  his  own  ship  without  exchanging  another 
word  with  Antagoras,  who  had  retired  to  the  centre  of  the 
vessel,  fearing  to  trust  himself  to  a  premature  utterance  of 
that  defiance  which  the  last  warning  of  his  chief  provoked, 
and  who  was  therefore  arousing  the  soldiers  to  louder  shouts 
of  admiration  at  the  Athenian  skill. 

Rowing  back  toward  the  wing  occupied  by  the  Pelopon 
nesian  allies,  of  whose  loyalty  he  was  assured,  Pausanias 
then  summoned  on  board  their  principal  officer,  and  com- 
municated to  him  his  policy  of  placing  the  lonians  not  only 
apart  from  the  Athenians,  but  under  the  vigilance  and  control 
of  Peloponnesian  vessels  in  the  immediate  neighborhood. 
"  Therefore,"  said  he,  "  while  the  Athenians  will  occupy  thia 
wing,  I  wish  you  to  divide  yourselves  ;  the  Lacedaemonian 
ships  will  take  the  way  the  Athenians  abandon,  but  tha 
Corinthian  triremes  will  place  themselves  between  the  ships 
of  the  Islands  and  the  Athenians.  I  shall  give  further  orders 
toward  distributing  the  Ionian  navy.  And  thus  I  trust  either 
all  chance  of  a  mutiny  is  cut  off,  or  it  will  be  put  down  at  the 
first  outbreak.  Now,  give  orders  to  your  men  to  take  the 
places  thus  assigned  to  you.  .  And  having  gratified  the  vanity 
of  our  friends,  the  Athenians,  by  their  holiday  evolutions,  I 
shall  send  to  thank  and  release  them  from  the  fatigue  so 
gracefully  borne." 

All  those  with  whom  he  here  conferred,  and  who  had  no 
love  for  Athens  or  Ionia,  readily  fell  into  the  plan  suggested. 
Pausanias  then  despatched  a  Laconian  vessel  to  the  Athenian 
Admiral,  with  complimentary  messages  and  orders  to  cease 
the  manoeuvres,  and  then,  heading  the  rest  of  the  Laconian 
contingent,  made  slow  and  stately  way  toward  the  station  de- 
serted by  the  Athenians.  But,  pausing  once  more  before  the 
vessels  of  the  Isles,  he  despatched  orders  to  their  several 


I40  PAUSANIAS.  THE  SPARTAN. 

commanders,  which  had  the  effect  of  dividing  their  array, 
and  placing  between  them  the  powerful  Corinthian  service. 
In  the  orders  of  the  vessel  he  forwarded  for  this  change,  he 
took  especial  care  to  dislocate  the  dangerous  contiguity  of 
the  Samian  and  Chian  triremes. 

The  sun  was  declining  toward  the  west  when  Pausanias 
had  marshalled  the  vessels  he  headed,  at  their  new  stations, 
and  the  Athenian  ships  were  already  anchored  close  and  se- 
cured. But  there  was  an  evident  commotion  in  that  part  of 
the  fleet  to  which  the  Corinthian  galleys  had  sailed.  The 
lonians  had  received  with  indignant  murmurs  the  command 
which  divided  their  strength.  Under  various  pretexts  each 
vessel  delayed  to  move  ;  and  when  the  Corinthian  ships  came 
to  take  a  vacant  space,  they  found  a  formidable  array — the 
soldiers  on  the  platforms  armed  to  the  teeth.  The  confusion 
was  visible  to  the  Spartan  chief ;  the  loud  hubbub  almost 
reached  to  his  ears.  He  hastened  toward  the  place  ;  but 
anxious  to  continue  the  gracious  part  he  had  so  unwontedly 
played  that  day,  he  cleared  his  decks  of  their  formidable  hop- 
lites,  lest  he  might  seem  to  meet  menace  by  menace,  and, 
drafting  them  into  other  vessels,  and  accompanied  only  by 
his  personal  serving-men  and  rowers,  he  put  forth  alone,  the 
gilded  shield  and  the  red  banner  still  displayed  at  his 
stern. 

But  as  he  was  thus  conspicuous  and  solitary,  and  midway 
in  the  space  left  between  the  Laconian  and  Ionian  galleys, 
suddenly  two  ships  from  the  latter  darted  forth,  passed 
through  the  centre  of  the  Corinthian  contingent,  and  steered, 
with  the  force  of  all  their  rowers,  right  toward  the  Spartan's 
ship. 

"  Surely,"  said  Pausanias,  "  that  is  the  Chian's  vessel.  I 
recognize  the  vine-tree  and  the  image  of  the  Bromian  god  ; 
and  surely  that  other  one  is  the  Chimera  under  Uliades,  the 
Samian.  They  come  hither,  the  Ionian  with  them,  to  harangue 
against  obedience  to  my  orders." 

"  They  come  hither  to  assault  us,"  exclaimed  Erasinidas  ; 
"  their  beaks  are  right  upon  us." 

He  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  the  Chian's  brass  prow 
smote  the  gilded  shield,  and  rent  the  red  banner  from  its 
staff.  At  the  same  time  the  Chi?nera,  under  Uliades,  struck 
the  right  side  of  the  Spartan  ship,  and  with  both  strokes  the 
stout  vessel  reeled  and  dived.  "  Know,  Spartan,"  cried 
Antagoras,  from  the  platform  in  the  midst  of  his  soldiers^ 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  \a\ 

"  that  we  lonians  hold  together.  He  who  would  separate 
means  to  conquer  us.  VVe  disown  thy  hegemony.  If  ye 
would  seek  us,  we  are  with  the  Athenians." 

With  that  the  two  vessels,  having  performed  their  inso- 
lent and  daring  feat,  veered  and  shot  off  with  the  same  rapid- 
ity with  which  they  had  come  to  the  assault;  and,  as  they 
did  so,  hoisted  the  Athenian  ensign  over  their  own  national 
standards.  The  instant  that  signal  was  given,  from  the  other 
Ionian  vessels,  which  had  been  evidently  awaiting  it,  there 
came  a  simultaneous  shout;  and  all,  vacating  their  place  and 
either  gliding  through  or  wheeling  round  the  Corinthian 
galleys,  steered  toward  the  Athenian  fleet. 

The  trireme  of  Pausanias,  meanwhile,  sorely  damaged, 
part  of  its  side  rent  away,  and  the  water  rushing  in,  swayed 
and  struggled  alone  in  great  peril  of  sinking. 

Instead  of  pursuing  the  lonians,  the  Corinthian  galleys 
made  at  once  to  the  aid  of  the  insulted  commander. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Pausanias,  in  powerless  wrath,  "  oh,  the  ac- 
cursed element !  Oh  that  mine  enemies  had  attacked  me  on 
the  land  !  " 

"  How  are  we  to  act  ?  "  said  Aristides. 

"  We  are  citizens  of  a  Republic  in  which  the  majority 
govern,"  answered  Cimon.  "  And  the  majority  here  tell  us 
how  we  are  to  act.  Hark  to  the  shouts  of  our  men,  as  they 
are  opening  way  for  their  kinsmen  of  the  Isles." 

The  sun  sunk,  and  with  it  sunk  the  Spartan  maritime  as- 
cendency over  Hellas.  And  from  that  hour  in  which  the 
Samian  and  the  Chian  insulted  the  galley  of  Pausanias,  if  we 
accord  weight  to  the  authority  on  which  Plutarch  must  have 
based  his  tale,  commenced  the  brief  and  glorious  sovereignty 
of  Athens.  Commence  when  and  how  it  might,  it  was  an 
epoch  most  signal  in  the  records  of  the  ancient  world  for  its 
results  upon  a  civilization  to  which  as  yet  human  foresight 
can  predict  no  end. 


142  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN. 


BOOK  FOUR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

We  pass  from  Byzantium;  we  are  in  Spaita.  In  the 
Archeion,  or  office  of  the  Ephoralty,  sat  five  men,  all  some- 
what advanced  in  years.  These  constituted  that  stern  and 
terrible  authority  which  had  gradually,  and  from  unknown 
beginnings,*  assumed  a  kind  of  tyranny  over  the  descend- 
ants of  Hercules  themselves.  They  were  the  representatives 
of  the  Spartan  people,  elected  without  reference  to  rank  or. 
wealth,!  and  possessing  jurisdiction  not  only  over  the  Helots 
and  Laconians,  but  over  most  of  the  magistrates.  They 
could  suspend  or  terminate  any  office  ;  they  could  accuse 
the  kings,  and  bring  them  before  a  court  in  which  they  them- 
selves were  judges  upon  trial  of  life  and  death.  They  ex- 
ercised control  over  the  armies  and  the  embassies  sent 
abroad  ;  and  the  king,  at  the  head  of  his  forces,  was  still 
bound  to  receive  his  instructions  from  this  Council  of  Five. 
Their  duty,  in  fact,  was  to  act  as  a  check  upon  the  kings, 
and  they  were  the  representatives  of  that  nobility  which  em- 
braced the  whole  Spartan  people,  in  contradistinction  to  the 
Laconians  and  Helots. 

The  conference  in  which  they  engaged  seemed  to  rivet 
their  most  earnest  attention.  And  as  the  presiding  Ephor 
continued  the  observations  he  addressed  to  them,  the  rest 
listened  with  profound  and  almost  breathless  silence. 

The  speaker,  named  Periclides,  was  older  than  the  others. 
His  frame,  still  upright  and  sinewy,  was  yet   lean  almost  to 

*  K.  O.  Miiller  ("Dorians"),  book  3,  ch.  7,  §  2.  According  to 
Aristotle,  Cicero,  and  others,  the  Ephoralty  was  founded  by  Theopom- 
pus  subsequently  to  the  mythical  time  of  Lycurgus.  To  Lycurgus  him- 
self it  is  referred  by  Xenophun  and  Herodotus.  Miiller  considers  rightly 
that,  though  an  ancient  Doric  institution,  it  was  incompatible  with  the 
primitive  constitution  of  Lycurgus,  and  had  gradually  acquired  its 
peculiar  character  by  causes  operating  on  the  Spartan  State  alone. 

t  Aristot.,  Pol.  ii. 


PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAN.  143 

emaciation,  his  face  sharp,   and  his  dark  eyes  gleamed  with 
a  cunning  and  sinister  light  under  his  gray  brows. 

''  If,"  said  he,  "  we  are  to  believe  these  lonians,  Pausanias 
meditates  some  deadly  injury  to  Greece.  As  for  the  com 
plaints  of  his  arrogance,  they  aie  to  be  received  with  due 
caution.  Our  Spartans,  accustomed  to  the  peculiar  disci- 
pline of  the  Laws  of  .^gimius,  rarely  suit  the  humors  of 
lonians  and  innovators.  The  question  to  consider  is  not 
whether  he  has  been  too  imperious  toward  lonians  who  were 
but  the  other  day  subjected  to  the  Mede,  but  whether  he 
can  make  the  command  he  received  from  Sparta  menacing 
to  Sparta  herself.  We  lend  him  iron,  he  hath  holpen  him- 
self to  gold." 

"  Besides  the  booty  at  Platsa,  they  say  that  he  has 
amassed  much  jDlunder  at  Byzantium,"  said  Zeuxidamus.  one 
of  the  Ephors,  after  a  pause. 

Periclides  looked  hard  at  the  speaker,  and  the  two  men 
exchanged  a  significant  glance. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  a  third,  a  man  of  a  severe  but  noble 
countenance,   the    father  of   Lysander,   and,   what   was  not 
usual   with   the    Ephors,  belonging    to    one   of  the  highest 
families  of  Sparta,  "  I  have  always  held  that  Sparta  should 
limit  its  policy  to  self-defense  ;  that,  since  the  Persian   inva- 
sion is  over,  we  have  no  business  with  Byzantium.     Let  the 
busy  Athenians  obtain,  if  they  will,  the   empire   of  the   sea 
The  sea  is   no  province  of  ours.     All  intercourse  with  for 
eigners,  Asiatics  and   lonians,  enervates  our  men   and   cor 
rupts  our  generals.     Recall  Pausanias — recall  our  Spartans. 
I  have  said." 

"  Recall  Pausanias  first,"  said  Periclides,  "  and  we  shall 
then  hear  the  truth,  and  decide  what   is  best  to  be  done." 

"  If  he  has  Medized,  if  he  has  conspired  against  Greece, 
let  us  accuse  him  to  the  death,  "  said  Agesilaus,  Lysander's 
father. 

"  We  may  accuse,  but  it  rests  not  with  us  to  sentence,  " 
said  Periclides,  disapprovingly. 

"  And,  "  said  a  fourth  Ephor,  with  a  visible  shudder, 
"what  Spartan  dare  counsel  sentence  of  death  to  the 
descendant  of  the  gods  ?  " 

"  I  dare  .''  "  replied  Agesilaus;  "  but  provided  only  that 
the  descendant  of  the  gods  had  counselled  death  to  Greece. 
And  for  that  reason,  I  say  that  I  would  not,  without  evidence 
the  clearest,  even  harbor  the  thought  that  a  Heracleid  could 
meditate  treason  to  his  country.  " 


144-  PAUSAXIAS,   THE  SPARTAN; 

Periclides  felt  the  reproof,  and  bit  his  lips. 
"  Besides,  "  observed    Zeuxidamus,  *'  fines    enrich    the 
stale.  "  Periclides  nodded  approvingly. 

An  expression  of  lofty  contempt  passed  over  the  brow 
and  lip  of  Agesilaus.  But  with  national  self-command,  he 
replied  gravely,  and  with  equal  laconic  brevity,  "  If  Pausa- 
nias  hath  committed  a  trivial  error  that  a  fine  can  expiate,  so 
be  it.  But  talk  not  of  fines  till  ye  acquit  hinj  of  all  treason- 
able connivance  with  the  Mede.  " 

At  that  moment  an  officer  entered  on  the  conclave,  and, 
approaching  the  presiding  Ephor,  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  This  is  well,  "  exclaimed  Periclides,  aloud.  "  A  messen- 
ger from  Pausanias  himself.  Your  son  Lysander  has  just 
arrived  from  Byzantium." 

"  My  son  !  "  exclaimed  Agesilaus,  eagerly,  and  then,  check- 
ing himself,  added  calmly,  "  That  is  a  sign  no  danger  to 
Sparta  threatened  Byzantium  when  he  left.  " 
"  Let  him  be  admitted, "  said  Periclides. 
Lysander  entered ;  and,  pausing  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  council-board,  inclined  his  head  submissively  to  the 
Ephors  :  save  a  rapid  interchange  of  glances,  no  separate 
greeting  took  place  between  son  and  father. 

"  Thou  art  welcome,"  said  Periclides.  "  Thou  hast  done 
thy  duty  since  thou  hast  left  the  city.  Virgins  will  praise 
thee  as  the  brave  man  ;  age,  more  sober,  is  contented  to  say 
thou  hast  upheld  the  Spartan  name.  And  thy  father  without 
shame  may  take  thy  hand.  " 

A  warm  flush  spread  over  the  young  man's  face.  He 
stepped  forward  with  a  quick  step,  his  eyes  beaming  with 
joy.  Calm  and  stately,  his  father  rose,  clasped  the  extended 
hand,  then  releasing  his  own,  placed  it  an  instant  on  his  son's 
bended  head,  and  reseated  himself  in  silence. 

"  Thou  earnest  straight  from  Pausanias  ?  "  said  Periclides. 

Lysander  drew  from  his  vest  the   despatch   intrusted  to 

him,  and  gave  it  to  the  presiding  Ephor.     Periclides  half  rose, 

as  if  to  take  with  more  respect  what  had  come  from  the  hand 

of  the  son  of  Hercules. 

'•  Withdraw,  Lysander,  "  he  said,  "  and  wait  without, 
while  we  deliberate  on  the  contents  herein." 

Lysander  obeyed,  and  returned   to  the  outer  chamber. 
Here  he  was  instantly  surrounded  by  eager,  though  not 
noisy,  groups.     Some  in  that  chamber  were  waiting  on  busi- 
ness connected   with   the   civil  jurisdiction   of   the    Ephors. 
Some  had  gained  admittance  for  the  purpose  of  greeting  their 


PA  us  A  NT  AS,   TjIE  SPARTAN.  145 

brave  countryman,  and  hearing  news  of  the  distant  camp  from 
one  who  had  so  lately  quit  the  great  Pausanias.  For  men 
could  talk  without  restraint  of  their  General,  though  it  was  but 
with  reserve  and  indirectly  that  they  slid  in  some  furtive 
question  as  to  the  health  and  safety  of  a  brother   or  a  son. 

"  My  heart  warms  to  be  among  ye  again,"  said  the  sim- 
ple Spartan  youth.  "  As  I  came  through  the  defiles  from  the 
sea-coast,  and  saw  on  the  height  the  gleam  from  the  old 
Temple  of  Pallas  Chalcioecus,  I  said  to  myself,  '  Blessed  be 
the  gods  that  ordained  me  to  live  with  Spartans  or  die  with 
Sparta  !'  " 

"  Thou  wilt  see  how  much  we  shall  make  of  thee,  Ly- 
sander,"  cried  a  Spartan  youth  a  little  younger  than  himself, 
one  of  the  superior  tribe  of  the  Hylleans.  "  We  have  heard 
of  thee  at  Plataea.  It  is  said  that  had  Pausanias  not  been 
there  thou  wouldst  have  been  called  the  bravest  Greek  in  the 
armament." 

"  Hush  !"  said  Lysander,  "  thy  few  years  excuse  thee, 
foung  friend.  Save  our  General,  we  were  all  equals  in  the 
day  of  battle." 

"  So  thinks  not  my  sister  Percalus,  "  whispered  the  youth 
archly  ;  "  scold  her  as  thou  dost  me,  if  thou  dare," 

Lysander  colored,  and  replied  in  a  voice  that  slightly 
trembled,  "  I  cannot  hope  that  thy  sister  interests  herself  in 
me.  Nay,  when  I  left  Sparta,  I  thought — "  He  checked 
himself. 

"Thought  what  ?  " 

*'  That  among  those  who  remained  behind,  Percalus 
might  find  her  betrothed  long  before  I  returned." 

"Among  those  who  remained  behind/  Percalus!  How 
meanly  thou  must  think  of  her  !  " 

Before  Lysander  could  utter  the  eager  assurance  that  he 
was  very  far  from  thinking  meanly  of  Percalus,  the  other  by- 
standers, impatient  at  this  whispered  colloquy,  seized  his 
attention  with  a  volley  of  questions,  to  which  he  gave  but 
curt  and  not  very  relevant  answers,  so  much  had  the  lad's 
few  sentences  disturbed  the  calm  tenor  of  his  existing  self- 
possession.  Nor  did  he  quite  regain  his  presence  of  mind 
until  he  was  once  more  summoned  into  the  presence  of  the 
Ephors. 


146  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  communication  of  Pausanias  had  caused  an  animzited 
discussion  in  the  Council,  and  led  to  a  strong  division  of 
opinion.  But  the  faces  of  the  Ephors,  rigid  and  composed, 
revealed  nothing  to  guide  the  sagacity  of  Lysander  as  ne  re- 
entered the  chamber.  He  himself,  by  a  strong  effort,  had 
recovered  from  the  disturbance  into  which  the  words  of  the 
boy  had  thrown  his  mind,  and  he  stood  before  the  Ephors 
intent  upon  the  object  of  defending  the  name  and  fulfilling 
the  commands  of  his  chief.  So  reverent  and  grateful  was 
the  love  that  he  bore  to  Pausanias  that  he  scarcely  permit- 
ted himself  even  to  blame  the  deviations  from  Spartan 
austerity  which  he  secretly  mourned  in  his  mind  ;  and  as  to 
the  grave  guilt  of  treason  to  the  Hellenic  cause,  he  had 
never  suffered  the  suspicion  of  it  to  rest  upon  an  intellect 
that  only  failed  to  be  penetrating  where  its  sight  was  limited 
by  discipline  and  affection.  He  felt  that  Pausanias  had  in- 
trusted to  him  his  defense  ;  and  though  he  would  fain,  in  his 
secret  heart,  have  beheld  the  Regent  once  more  in  Sparta, 
yet  he  well  knew  that  it  was  the  duty  of  obedience  and  friend, 
ship  to  plead  against  the  sentence  of  recall  which  was  so 
dreaded  by  his  chief. 

With  all  his  thoughts  collected  toward  that  end,  he  stood 
before  the  Ephors,  modest  in  demeanor,  vigilant  in  purpose. 

"  Lysander,"  said  Periclides,  after  a  short  pause,  "  we 
know  thy  affection  to  the  Regent,  thy  chosen  friend  ;  but  we 
know,  also,  thy  affection  for  thy  native  Sparta  :  where  the 
two  may  come  into  conflict,  it  is,  and  it  must  be,  thy  country 
which  will  claim  the  preference.  We  charge  thee,  by  virtue 
of  our  high  powers  and  authority,  to  speak  the  truth  on  the 
questions  we  shall  address  to  thee,  without  fear  or  favor." 

Lysander  bowed  his  head.  "  I  am  in  presence  of  Sparta 
my  mother,  and  Agesilaus  my  father.  They  know  that  I  was 
not  reared  to  lie  to  either." 

"  Thou  say'st  well.  Now  answer.  Is  it  true  that  Pau- 
sanias wears  the  robes  of  the  Mede  ?  " 

"  It  is  true." 

"  And  has  he  stated  to  thee  his  reasons  ?  " 

"  Not  only  to  me,  but  to  others." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 


PA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTAiV.  147 

"  That,  in  the  mixed  and  half-Medized  population  of  By- 
zantium, splendor  of  attire  has  become  so  associated  with 
the  notion  of  sovereign  power  that  the  Eastern  dress  and  at- 
tributes of  pomp  are  essential  to  authority ;  and  that  men 
bow  before  his  tiara  who  might  rebel  against  the  helm  and 
the  horse-hair.  Outward  signs  have  a  value,  O  Ephors,  ac- 
cording to  the  notions  men  are  brought  up  to  attach  to  them." 

"  Good,"  said  one  of  the  Ephors.  "  There  is  in  this  de- 
parture from  our  habits,  be  it  right  or  wrong,  no  sign,  then, 
of  connivance  with  the  Barbarian." 

"  Connivance  is  a  thing  secret  and  concealed,  and  shuns 
all  outward  signs." 

"  But,"  said  Periclides,  "  what  say  the  other  Spartan 
captains  to  this  vain  fashion,  which  savors  not  of  the  laws  of 
.^gimius  ?  " 

"  The  first  law  of  ^gimius  commands  us  to  fight  and  to 
die  for  the  king  or  the  chief  who  has  kingly  sway.  The 
Ephors  may  blame,  but  the  soldier  must  not  question."  , 

"■  Thou  speakest  boldly  for  so  young  a  man,"  said  Peri- 
clides, harshly. 

"  I  was  commanded  to  speak  the  truth." 

"  Has  Pausanias  intrusted  the  command  of  Byzantium  tc 
Gongylus  the  Eretrian,  who  already  holds  four  provinces 
under  Xerxes  ?  " 

"  He  has  done  so." 

"  Know  you  the  reason  for  that  selection  ?  " 

"  Pausanias  says  that  the  Eretrian  could  not  more  show 
■is  faith  to  Hellas  than  by  resigning  Eastern  satrapies  so 
fast." 

"  Has  he  resigned  them  ?  '•' 

"  I  know  not ;  but  I  presume  that  when  the  Persian 
King  knows  that  the  Eretrian  is  leagued  against  him  with 
die  other  captains  of  Hellas,  he  will  assign  the  satrapies  to 
Another." 

"  And  is  it  true  that  the  Persian  prisoners,  Ariamanes  aiid 
Datis,  have  escaped  from  the  custody  of  Gongylus  ?  " 

"  It  is  true.  The  charge  against  Gongylus  for  that  error 
was  heard  in  a  council  of  confederate  captains,  and  no  proof 
against  him  was  brought  forward.  Cimon  was  intrusted  with 
the  pursuit  of  the  prisoners.  Pausanias  himself  sent  forth 
fifty  scouts  on  Thessalian  horses.  The  prisoners  were  not 
discovered." 

"  Is  it  true,"  said  Zeuxidamus,  "  that  Pausanias  has 
amassed  much  plunder  at  Byzantium  ?  " 

"  What  he  has  w  on  as  a  conqueror  was  assigned  to  him 


1 48  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

by  common  voice  ;  but  he  has  spent  largely  out  of  his  own 
resources  in  securing  the  Greek  sway  at  Byzantium." 

There  was  a  silence.  None  liked  to  question  the  young 
soldier  further;  none  liked  to  put  the  direct- question, 
whether  or  not  the  Ionian  embassador  could  have  cause  for 
suspecting  the  descendant  of  Hercules  of  harm  against  the 
Greeks.     At  length  Agesilaus  said  : — 


u 


I  demand  the  word,  and  I  claim  the  right  to  speak 
plainly.  My  son  is  young,  but  he  is  of  the  blood  of  Hyllus. 
"  Son,  Pausanias  is  dear  to  thee.  Man  soon  dies  :  man's 
name  lives  forever.  Dear  to  thee  if  Pausanias  is,  dearer 
must  be  his  name.  In  brief,  the  Ionian  embassadors  com- 
plain of  his  arrogance  toward  the  confederates ;  they  de- 
mand his  recall.  Cimon  has  addressed  a  private  letter  to 
the  Spartan  host,  with  whom  he  lodged  here,  intimating  that 
it  may  be  the  best  for  the  honor  of  Pausanias,  and  for  our 
weight  with  the  allies,  to  hearken  to  the  Ionian  embassy.  It 
is  agrave  question,  therefore,  whether  we  should  recall  the 
Regent  or  refuse  to  hear  these  charges.  Thou  art  fresh 
from  Byzantium  ;  thou  must  know  more  of  this  matter  than 
we.  Loose  thy  tongue,  put  aside  equivocation.  Say  thy 
mind  ;  it  is  for  us  to  decide  afterward  what  is  our  duty  to  the 


state." 


"  I  thank  thee,  my  father,"  said  Lysander,  coloring  deeply 
at  a  compliment  paid  rarely  to  one  so  young,  "  and  thus  I 
answer  thee  : 

"  Pausanias,  in  seeking  to  enforce  discipline  and  preserve 
the  Spartan  supremacy,  was  at  first  somewhat  harsh  and 
severe  to  these  lonians,  who  had  indeed  but  lately  emanci- 
pated themselves  from  the  Persian  yoke,  and  who  were  lit- 
tle accustomed  to  steady  rule.  But  of  late  he  has  been  af- 
fable and  courteous,  and  no  complaint  was  urged  against 
him  for  austerity  at  the  time  when  this  embassy  was  sent  to 
you.  Wherefore  was  it  then  sent  ?  Partly,  it  may  be,  from 
moti^^es  of  private  hate,  not  public  zeal,  but  partly  because 
the  Ionian  race  sees  with  reluctance  and  jealousy  the  he- 
gemony of  Sparta.  I  would  speak  plainly.  It  is  not  for 
me  to  say  whether  ye  will  or  not  that  Sparta  should  retain 
the  maritime  supremacy  of  Hellas  ;  but  if  ye  do  will  it,  ye 
will  not  recall  Pausanias.  No  other  than  the  Conqueror  of 
Plataea  has  a  chance  of  maintaining  that  authority.  Eager 
would  the  lonians  be  upon  any  pretext,  false  or  frivolous,  to 
rid  themselves  of  Pausanias.  Artfully  willing  would  be  the 
Athenians  in  especial  that  ye  listened  to  such  pretexts ;  for 
Pausanias  gone,  Athens  remains  and  rules.     On  what  be- 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  145 

longs  to  the  policy  of  the  state  it  becomes  not  me  to  proffer 
a  word,  O  Ephors.  In  what  I  have  said  I  speak  what  the 
whole  armament  thinks  and  mumiurs.  But  this  I  may  say  as 
soldier  to  whom  the  honor  of  his  chief  is  dear  :  The  recall  of 
Pausanias  may  or  may  not  be  wise  as  a  public  act,  but  it  will 
be  regarded  throughout  all  Hellas  as  a  personal  affront  to 
your  General ;  it  will  lower  the  royalty  of  Sparta,  it  will  be 
an  insult  to  the  blood  of  Hercules.  Forgive  me,  O  venerable 
magistrates.  I  have  fought  by  the  side  of  Pausanias,  and  I 
cannot  dare  to  think  that  the  great  Conqueror  of  Plataea,  the 
man  who  saved  Hellas  from  the  Mede,  the  man  who  raised 
Sparta  on  that  day  to  a  renown  which  penetrated  the  farthest 
corners  of  the  East,  will  receive  from  you  other  return  than 
fame  and  glor}^  And  fame  and  glory  will  surely  make  that 
proud  spirit  doubly  Spartan.'' 

Lysander  paused,  breathing  hard  and  coloring  deeply — 
annoyed  with  himself  for  a  speech  of  which  both  the  length 
and  the  audacity  were  much  more  Ionian  than  Spartan. 

The  Ephors  looked  at  each  other,  and  there  was  again 
silence. 

"  Son  of  Agesilaus,"  said  Periclides,  *'  thou  hast  proved 
thy  Lacedaemonian  virtues  too  well,  and  too  high  and  general 
is  thy  repute  among  our  army,  as  it  is  borne  to  our  ears,  for 
us  to  doubt  thy  purity  and  patriotism  ;  otherwise,  we  might 
fear  that  while  thou  speakest  in  some  contempt  of  Ionian 
wolves,  thou  hadst  learned  the  arts  of  Ionian  Agoras.  But 
enough  :  thou  art  dismissed.  Go  to  thy  home  ;  glad  the 
eyes  of  thy  mother ;  enjoy  the  honors  thou  wilt  find  awaiting 
thee  among  thy  coevals.  Thou  wilt  learn  later  whether  thou 
return  to  Byzantium,  or  whether  a  better  field  for  thy  valoi 
may  not  be  found  in  the  nearer  war  with  which  Arcadia 
threatens  us." 

As  soon  as  Lysander  left  the  chamber,  Agesilaus  spoke  : 

"  Ye  will  pardon  me,  Ephors,  if  I  bid  my  son  speak  thus 
boldly.  I  need  not  say  I  am  no  vain,  foolish  father,  desiring 
to  raise  the  youth  above  his  years.  But,  making  allowance 
for  his  partiality  to  the  Regent,  ye  will  grant  that  he  is  a  fair 
specimen  of  our  young  soldier}\  Probably,  as  he  speaks,  so 
will  our  young  men  think.  To  recall  Pausanias  is  to  dis- 
grace our  General.  Ye  have  my  mind.  If  the  Regent  be 
guilty  of  the  darker  charges  insinuated — correspondence  with 
the  Persian  against  Greece — I  know  but  one  sentence  for 
him — Death.  And  it  is  because  I  would  have  ye  consider  well 
how  dread  is  such  a  charge,  and  how  awful  such  a  sentence, 


i-o  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAIV. 

that  I  entreat  ye  not  lightly  to  entertain  the  one  unless  ye 
are  prepared  to  meditate  the  other.  As  for  the  maritime 
supremacy  of  Sparta,  I  hold,  as  I  have  held  before,  that  it  is 
not  within  our  councils  to  strive  for  it :  it  must  pass  from  us. 
We  may  surrender  it  later  with  dignity.  If  we  recall  our 
General  on  such  complaints,  we  lose  it  with  humiliation." 

"  I  agree  with  Agesilaus,"  said  anot-her.  "  Pausanias  is  a 
Heracleid  ;  my  vote  shall  not  insult  him." 

"  I  agree,  too,  with  Agesilaus,"  said  a  third  Ephor ;  "  not 
because  Pausanias  is  the  Heracleid,  but  because  he  is  the 
victorious  General  who  demands  gratitude  and  respect  from 
every  true  Spartan." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Periclides,  who,  seeing  himself  thus  out- 
voted in  the  council,  covered  his  disappointment  with  the 
self-control  habitual  to  his  race.  "  But  be  we  in  no  hurry  to 
give  these  Ionian  legates  their  answer  to-day.  We  must  de- 
liberate well  how  to  send  such  a  reply  as  may  be  most  con- 
ciliating and  prudent.  And  for  the  next  few  days  we  have  an 
excuse  for  delay  in  the  religious  ceremonials  due  to  the 
venerable  Divinity  of  Fear,  which  commence  to-morrow. 
Pass  we  to  the  other  business  before  us  ;  there  are  many 
whom  we  have  kept  waiting.  Agesilaus,  thou  art  excused 
from  the  public  table  to-day,  if  thou  wouldst  sup  with  thy 
brave  son  at  home." 

"  Nay,"  said  Agesilaus,  "  my  son  will  go  to  his  pheidition 
and  I  to  mine — as  I  did  on  the  day  when  I  lost  my  first- 
born." 


CHAPTER  III. 

On  quitting  the  Hall  of  the  Ephors,  Lysander  found 
himself  at  once  on  the  Spartan  Agora,  wherein  that  hall 
was  placed.  This  was  situated  on  the  highest  of  the  five 
hills,  over  which  the  unwalled  city  spread  its  scattered  poj> 
ulation,  and  was  popularly  called  the  Tower.  Before  the 
eyes  of  the  young  Spartan  rose  the  statues,  rude  and  antique, 
of  Latona,  the  Pythian  Apollo,  and  his  sister  Artemis 
— venerable  images  to  Lysander's  early  associations.  The 
place  which  they  consecrated  was  called  Chorus  ;  for  there, 
in  honor  of  Apollo,  and  in  the  most  pompous  of  all  the 
Spartan  festivals,  the  young  men  were  accustomed  to  lead 
the  sacred  dance.     The  Temple  of  Apollo  himself  stood  a 


PA  us  Am  AS,   THE  SPARTAN:  151 

little  in  the  background,  and  near  to  it  that  of  Hera,  But 
more  vast  that  any  image  of  a  god  was  a  colossal  statues 
which  represented  the  Spartan  people  ;  while  on  a  still  loft- 
ier pinnacle  of  the  hill  than  that  table-land  which  enclosed 
the  Agora — dominating,  as  it  were,  the  whole  city — soared 
into  the  bright-blue  sky  the  sacred  Chalcioecus,  or  Temple 
of  the  Brazen  Pallas,  darkening  with  its  shadow  another 
fane  toward  the  left  dedicated  to  the  Lacedaemonian  Muses, 
and  receiving  a  gleam  on  the  right  from  the  brazen  statue 
of  Zeus,  which  was  said  by  tradition  to  have  been  made  by  a 
disciple  of  Daedalus  himself. 

But  short  time  had  Lvsander  to  note  undisturbed  the  old 
familiar  scenes.  A  crowd  of  his  early  friends  had  already 
collected  round  the  doors  of  the  Archeion,  and  rushed  for- 
ward to  greet  and  welcome  him.  The  Spartan  coldness 
and  austerity  of  social  intercourse  vanished  always  before 
the  enthusiasm  created  by  the  return  to  his  native  city  ot 
a  man  renowned  for  valor ;  and  Lysander's  fame  had  come 
back  to  Sparta  before  himself.  Joyously,  and  in  triumph, 
the  young  men  bore  away  their  comrade.  As  they  passed 
through  the  centre  of  the  Agora,  where  assembled  the  vari- 
ous merchants  and  farmers,  who,  under  the  name  of  Perioeci, 
carried  on  the  main  business  of  the  Laconian  mart,  and  were 
often  much  wealthier  than  the  Spartan  citizens,  trade  ceased 
its  hubbub  ;  all  drew  near  to  gaze  on  the  young  warrior  ; 
and  now,  as  they  turned  from  the  Agora,  a  group  of  eager 
women  met  them  on  the  road,  and  shrill  voices  exclaimed, 
"  Go,  Lysander,  thou  hast  fought  well — go  and  choose  for 
thyself  tlie  maiden  that  seems  to  thee  the  fairest.  Go,  marry, 
and  get  sons  for  Sparta." 

Lysander's  step  seemed  to  tread  on  air,  and  tears  of  rapt- 
ure stood  in  his  downcast  eyes.  But  suddenly  all  the  voices 
hushed  ;  the  crowds  drew  back  ;  his  friends  halted.  Close 
by  the  great  Temple  rf  Fear,  and  coming  from  some  place 
within  its  sanctuary,  there  approached  towards  the  Spartan 
and  his  comrades  a  majestic  woman — a  woman  of  so  grand 
a  step  and  port,  that,  though  her  veil  as  yet  hid  her  face,  her 
form  alone  sufficed  to  inspire  awe.  All  knew  her  by  her  gait 
all  made  way  for  Alithea,  the  widow  of  a  king,  the  mother  of 
Pausanias  the  Regent.  Lysander,  lifting  his  eyes  from  the 
ground,  impressed  by  the  hush  around  him,  recognized  the 
form  as  it  advanced  slowly  toward  him,  and,  leaving  his  com- 
rades behind,  stepped  forward  to  salute  the  mother  of  his 
chief.      She,  thus  seeing  him,  turned    slightly  aside,   and 


152  PAUSANIAS,  THE  SPARTAJV. 

paused  by  a  rude  building  of  immemorial  antiquity  which 
stood  near  the  temple.  That  building  was  the  tomb  of  the 
mythical  Orestes,  whose  bones  were  said  to  have  been  in- 
terred there  by  the  command  of  the  Delphian  Oracle.  On  a 
stone  at  the  foot  of  the  tomb  sat  calmly  down  the  veiled  wo- 
man, and  waited  the  approach  of  Lysander.  When  he  came 
near,  and  alone — all  the  rest  remaining  aloof  and  silent — ■ 
Alithea  removed  her  veil,  and  a  countenance  grand  and  terri- 
ble as  that  of  a  Fate  lifted  its  rigid  looks  to  the  young  Spar- 
tan's eyes.  Despite  her  age — for  she  had  passed  into  middle 
life  before  she  had  borne  Pausanias — Alithea  retained  all  the 
traces  of  a  marvellous  and  almost  preterhuman  beauty.  But 
it  was  not  the  beauty  of  woman.  No  softness  sat  on  those 
lips ;  no  love  beamed  from  those  eyes.  Stern,  inexorable — 
not  a  fault  in  her  grand  proportions — the  stoutest  heart 
might  have  felt  a  throb  of  terror  as  the  eye  rested  upon  that 
pitiless  and  imposing  front.  And  the  deep  voice  of  the 
Spartan  warrior  had  a  slight  tremor  in  its  tone  as  it  uttered 
its  respectful  salutation. 

"  Draw  near,  Lysander.     What  sayest  thou  of  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  left  him  well,  and—" 

"  Does  a  Spartan  mother  first  ask  of  the  bodily  health  of 
an  absent  man-child  ?  By  the  tomb  of  Orestes  and  near  the 
Temple  of  Fear,  a  king's  widow  asks  a  Spartan  soldier  what 
he  says  of  a  Spartan  chief." 

"  All  Hellas,"  replied  Lysander,  recovering  his  spirit, 
*'  might  answer  thee  best,  Alithea.  For  all  Hellas  proclaimed 
that  the  bravest  man  at  Platjea  was  thy  son,  my  chief." 

"  And  where  did  my  son,  thy  chief,  learn  to  boast  of  bra- 
ver)' ?  They  tell  me  he  inscribed  the  offerings  to  the  gods 
with  his  name  as  the  victor  of  Plataea — the  battle  won,  not  by 
one  man,  but  assembled  Greece.  The  inscription  that  dis- 
honors him  by  its  vainglory  will  be  erased.  To  be  brave  is 
naught.  Barbarians  may  be  brave.  But  to  dedicate  bravery 
to  his  native  land  becomes  a  Spartan.  He  who  is  everything 
against  a  foe  should  count  himself  as  nothing  in  the  service  of 
his  countr}'. 

Lysander  remaine  1  silent  under  the  gaze  of  those  fixed 
and  imperious  eyes. 

"  Youth,"  said  Alit  -  '•a,  after  a  short  pause,  "  if  thou  re- 
tumest  to  Byzantium,  >. ^7  this  from  Alithea  to  thy  chief; 
*  From  thy  childhood,  Pausanias,  has  thy  mother  feared  for 
thee  ;  and  at  the  Temple  of  Fear  did  she  sacrifice  when  she 


PAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN-.  153 

ceard  that  thou  wert  victorious  at  Plataea  ;  for  in  thy  heart 
are  the  seeds  of  arrogance  and  pride ;  and  victor}-  to  thine 
arms  may  end  in  ruin  to  thy  name.  And  ever  since  that  day 
does  Alithea  haunt  the  precincts  of  that  temple.  Come  back 
and  be  Spartan,  as  thine  ancestors  were  before  thee,  and 
AHthea  will  rejoice,  and  think  the  gods  have  heard  her.  But 
if  thou  seest  within  thyself  one  cause  why  thy  mother  should 
sacrifice  to  Fear,  lest  her  son  should  break  the  laws  of  Sparta, 
or  sully  his  Spartan  name,  humble  thyself,  and  mourn  that  thou 
didst  not  perish  at  Plataea.  By  a  temple  and  from  a  tomb  I 
bend  thee  warning.'  Say  this,  I  have  done ;  join  thy 
friends." 

Again  the  veil  fell  over  the  face,  and  the  figure  of  the 
woman  remained  seated  on  the  tomb  long  after  the  proces- 
sion had  passed  on,  and  the  mirth  of  young  voices  was  again 
released. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


The  group  that  attended  Lysander  continued  to  swell  as 
he  mounted  the  aclivity  on  which  his  parental  home  was 
placed.  The  houses  of  the  Spartan  proprietors  were  at  that 
day  not  closely  packed  together  as  in  the  dense  population  of 
commercial  towns.  More  like  the  villas  of  a  suburb,  they 
lay  a  little  apart,  on  the  unequal  surface  of  the  rugged  ground, 
perfectly  plain  and  unadorned,  covering  a  large  space  with 
ample  courtyards,  closed  in,  in  front  of  the  narrow  streets. 
And  still  was  in  force  the  primitive  law  which  ordained  that 
doorways  should  be  shaped  only  by  the  saw,  and  the  ceilings 
by  the  axe  ;  but  in  contrast  to  the  rudeness  of  the  private 
houses,  at  ever}'  opening  in  the  street  were  seen  the  Doric 
pillars  or  graceful  stairs  of  a  temple ;  and  high  over  all  domi- 
nated the  Tower-hill,  or  Acropolis,  with  the  antique  fane  of 
Pallas  Chalcioecus. 

And  so,  loud  and  joyous,  the  procession  bore  the  young 
warrior  to  the  threshold  of  his  home.  It  was  an  act  of  public 
honor  to  his  fair  repute  and  his  proven  valor.  And  the 
Spartan  felt  as  proud  of  that  unceremonious  attendance  as 
ever  did  Roman  chief  sweeping  under  arches  of  triumph  in 
the  curule  car. 


154  FAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

At  the  threshold  of  the  door  stood  his  mother — for  the 
tidings  of  his  coming  had  preceded  him — and  his  Uttle 
brothers  and  sisters.  His  step  quickened  at  the  sight  of  these 
beloved  faces. 

"  Bound   forward,   Lysander,"   said   one    of   the   train 
thou  hast  won  the  right  to  thy  mother's  kiss." 

"  But  fail  us  not  at  the  pheidition  before  sunset,"  cried 
another,  "  Every  one  of  the  obe  will  send  his  best  contribution 
to  the  feast  to  welcome  thee  back.  We  shall  have  a  rare  ban- 
quet of  it." 

And  so,  as  his  mother  drew  him  within' the  door,  his  arm 
round  her  waist,  and  the  children  clung  to  his  cloak,  to  his 
knees,  or  sprung  up  to  claim  his  kiss,  the  procession  set  up  a 
kind  of  chanted  shout,  and  left  the  warrior  in  his  home, 

"Oh,  this  is  joy,  joy!  "  said  Lysander,  with  sweet  tears  in 
his  eyes,  as  he  sat  in  the  women's  apartment,  his  mother  by 
his  side,  and  the  little  ones  around  him.  "  Where,  save  in 
Sparta,  does  a  man  love  a  home  ?  " 

And  this  exclamation,  which  might  have  astonished  an 
Ionian — seeing  how  much  the  Spartan  civilian  merged  the 
individual  in  the  state — was  yet  true,  where  the  Spartan 
was  wholly  Spartan,  where,  by  habit  and  association,  he  had 
learned  to  love  the  severities  of  the  existence  that  surrounded 
him,  and  where  the  routine  of  duties  which  took  him  from 
his  home  whether  for  exercises  or  the  public  tales,  made  yet 
more  precious  the  hours  of  rest  and  intimate  intercourse 
with  his  family.  For  the  gay  pleasures  and  lewd  resort  of 
other  Greek  cities  were  not  known  to  the  Spartan.  Not  for 
him  were  the  cook-shops  and  baths  and  revels  of  Ionian  idlers. 
When  the  state  ceased  to  -claim  him,  he  had  nothing  but  his 
home. 

As  Lysander  thus  exclaimed,  the  door  of  the  room  had 
opened  noiselessly,  and  Agesilaus  stood  unperceived  at  the 
entrance,  and  overheard  his  son.  His  face  brightened  sin- 
gularly at  Lysander's  words.  He  came  forward  and  opened  his 
arms. 

"Embrace  me  now,  my  boy  !  my  brave  boy  !  embrace  me 
now  !  The  Ephors  are  not  here." 

Lysander  turned,  sprung  up,  and  was  in  his  father's 
arms. 

"  So  thou  art  not  changed.  Byzantium  has  not  spoiled 
thee.  Thy  name  is  uttered  with  praise  unmixed  with  fear. 
All  Persia's  gold,  all  the  great  king's  satrapies,  could  not 
Medize  my  Lysander.     Ah,  "  continued  the  father,  turning  to 


PA  USA  NI AS,   THE  SPARTAN  i^- 

his  wife,  "  who  could  have  i^redicted  the  happiness  of  this 
hour?  Poor  child  !  he  was  born  sickly.  Hera  had  already 
given  us  more  sons  than  we  could  provide  for,  ere  our  land's 
were  increased  by  the  death  of  thy  childless  relatives.  Wife, 
wife  !  when  the  family  council  ordained  him  to  be  exposed  on 
Taygetus,  when  thou  didst  hide  thyself  lest  thy  tears  should 
be  seen,  and  my  voice  trembled  as  I  said,  '  Be  the  laws 
obeyed,'  who  could  have  guessed  that  the  gods  would  yet 
preserve  him  to  be  the  pride  of  our  house  .?  Blessed  be  Zeus 
the  saviour,  and  Hercules  the  warrior  !  "* 

"  And,"  said  the  mother,  "  blessed  be  Pausanias,  the  de- 
scendant of  Hercules,  who  took  the  forlorn  infant  to  his  fa- 
ther's home,  and  who  has  reared  him  now  to  be  the  example 
of  Spartan  youths." 

"  Ah,  "  said  Lysander,  looking  up  into  his  father's  eyes, 
"  if  I  can  ever  be  worthy  of  your  love,  O  my  father,  forget 
not,  I  pray  thee,  that  it  is  to  Pausanias  I  owe  life,  home,  and 
a  Spartan's  glorious  destiny." 

"  I  forget  it  not,"  answered  Agesilaus,  with  a  mournful  and 
serious  expression  of  countenance.  "  And  on  this  I  would 
speak  to  thee.  Thy  mother  must  spare  thee  a  while  to  me. 
Come.     I  lean  on  thy  shoulder  instead  of  my  staff." 

Agesilaus  led  his  son  into  the  large  hall,  which  was  the 
main  chamber  of  the  house ;  and  pacing  up  and  down  the 
wide  and  solitary  floor,  questioned  him  closely  as  to  the  truth 
of  the  stories  respecting  the  Regent  which  had  reached  the 
Ephors. 

"  Thou  must  speak  with  naked  heart  to  me,"  said  Agesil- 
aus ;  "  for  I  tell  thee  that,  if  I  am  Spartan,  I  am  also  man 
and  father ;  and  I  would  serve  him,  who  saved  thy  life  and 
taught  thee  how  to  fight  for  thy  country,  in  every  way  that 
may  be  lawful  to  a  Spartan  and  a  Greek." 

Thus  addressed,  and  convinced  of  his  father's  sincerity, 
Lysander  replied  with  ingenuous  and  brief  simplicity.  He 
granted  that  Pausanias  had  exposed  himself  with  a  haughty 
imprudence,  which  it  was  difficult  to  account  for,  to  the 
charges  of  the  lonians.  "  But,"  he  added,  with  that  shrewd 
observation  which  his  affection  for  Pausanias  rather  than  his 
experience  of  human  nature  had  taught  him — "but  we  must 
remember  that  in  Pausanias  we  are  dealing  with  no  ordinary 
man.  If  he  has  faults  of  judgment  which  a  Spartan  rarely 
commits,  he  has,  O  my  father,  a  force  of  intellect  and  passion 
which  a  Spartan  as  rarely  knows.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth  ? 
Our  state  is  too  small   for  him.     But  would  it  not  have  been 


156  PAUSAA'IAS,    THE  SPARTAN. 

too  small  for  Hercules  ?  Would  the  laws  of  ^gimius  have 
permitted  Hercules  to  perform  his  labors  and  achieve  his 
conquests  ?  This  vast  and  her}'  nature  suddenly  released 
from  the  cramps  of  our  customs,  which  Pausanias  never  in 
his  youth  regarded  save  as  galling,  expands  itself,  as  an  eagle 
long  caged  would  outspread  its  wings." 

"  1  comprehend,"  said  Agesilaus,  thoughtfully,  and  some- 
what sadly.  "  There  have  been  moments  in  my  own  life 
when  I  regarded  Sparta  as  a  prison.  In  my  early  manhood  I 
was  sent  on  a  mission  to  Corinth.  Its  pleasures,  its  wild 
tumult  of  gay  license,  dazzled  and  inebriated  me,  I  said, 
'This  it. is  to  live.'  I  came  back  to  Sparta  sullen  and  dis- 
contented. But  then,  happily,  I  saw  thy  mother  at  the  fes- 
tival of  Diana.  We  loved  each  other,  we  married  ;  and  when 
I  was  permitted  to  take  her  to  my  home,  I  became  sobered 
and  was  a  Spartan  again.  I  comprehend.  Poor  Pausanias  ! 
But  luxury  and  pleasure,  though  they  charm  a  while,  do  not 
fill  up  the  whole  of  a  soul  like  that  of  our  Heracleid.  From 
these  he  may  recover ;  but  ambition — that  is  the  true  liver 
of  Tantalus,  and  grows  larger  under  the  beak  that  feeds  on 
it.     What  is  his  ambition,  if  Sparta  be  too  small  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  his  ambition  would  be  to  make  Sparta  as  big  as 
himself." 

Agesilaus  stroked  his  chin  musingly. 

"  And  how  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  I  can  only  guess.  But  the  Persian  war, 
if  I  may  judge  by  what  I  hear  and  see,  cannot  roll  away  and 
leave  the  boundaries  of  each  Greek  state  the  same.  Two 
states  now  stand  forth  prominent,  Athens  and  Sparta.  The- 
mistocles  and  Cimon  aim  at  making  Athens  the  head  of  Hel- 
las. Perhaps  Pausanias  aims  to  effect  for  Sparta  what  they 
would  effect  for  Athens." 

"  And  what  thinkest  thou  of  such  a  scheme  ?  " 

**  Ask  me  not.  I  am  too  young,  too  inexperienced,  and 
perhaps  too  Spartan  to  answer  rightly." 

"  Too  Spartan,  because  thou  art  too  covetous  of  power 
for  Sparta." 

"  Too  Spartan  because  I  may  be  too  anxious  to  keep 
Sparta  what  she  is." 

Agesilaus  smiled.  "We  are  of  the  same  mind,  my  son. 
Think  not  that  the  reeky  defiles  which  enclose  us  shut  out 
from  our  minds  all  the  ideas  that  new  circumstance  strikes 
from  time.  I  have  meditated  on  what  thou  sayest.  Pausa- 
nias may  scheme.     It  is  true  that  the  invasion  of  the  Mede 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTA  AT.  1-7 

must  tend  to  raise  up  one  state  in  Greece  to  which  the  o'hers 
will  look  for  a  head.  I  have  asked  myself,  can  Sparta  be 
that  state  ?  and  my  reason  tells  me,  No  ;  Sparta  is  lost  if  she 
attempt  it.  She  may  become  something  else,  but  she  can 
not  be  Sparta.  Such  a  state  must  become  maritime,  and  de- 
pend on  lieets.  Our  inland  situation  forbids  this.  True,  we 
have  ports  in  which  the  Periceci  flourish  ;  but  did  we  use 
them  for  a  permanent  policy,  the  Periceci  must  become  our 
masters.  These  five  villages  would  be  abandoned  for  a  mart 
on  the  sea-shore.  This  mother  of  men  would  be  no  more. 
A  state  that  so  aspires  must  have  ample  wealth  at  its  com- 
mand. We  have  none.  We  might  raise  tribute  from  other 
Greek  cities,  but  for  that  purpose  we  must  have  fieets  again, 
to  overawe  and  compel,  for  no  tribute  will  be  long  voluntary. 
A  state  that  would  be  the  active  governor  of  Hellas  must 
have  lives  to  spare  in  abundance.  We  have  none,  unless  we 
always  do  hereafter  as  we  did  at  Platoea,  raise  an  army  of 
Helots — seven  Helots  to  one  Spartan.  How  long,  if  we  did 
so,  would  the  Helots  obey  us,  and  meanwhile  how  would  our 
lands  be  cultivated  .-'  A  state  that  would  be  the  centre  of 
Greece  must  cultivate  all  that  can  charm  and  allure  strangers. 
We  banish  strangers,  and  what  charms  and  allures  them  would 
womanize  us.  More  than  all,  a  state  that  would  obtain  the 
sympathies  of  the  turbulent  Hellenic  populations  must  have 
the  most  popular  institutions.  It  must  be  governed  by  a 
Demus.  We  are  an  Oligarchic  Aristocracy — a  disciplined 
camp  of  warriors,  not  a  licentious  Agora.  Therefore,  Sparta 
cannot  assume  the  head  of  a  Greek  Confederacy  except  in 
the  rare  seasons  of  actual  war ;  and  the  attempt  to  make  her 
the  head  of  such  a  confederacy  would  cause  changes  so  re- 
pugnant to  our  manners  and  habits,  that  it  would  be  fraught 
with  destruction  to  him  who  made  the  attempt,  or  to  us  if  he 
succeeded.  Wherefore,  to  sum  up,  the  ambition  of  Pausanias 
is  in  this  impracticable,  and  must  be  opposed." 

"  And  Athens,"  cried  Lysander,  with  a  slight  pang  of 
natural  and  national  jealousy,  "Athens,  then,  must  wrest 
from  Pausanias  the  hegemony  he  now  holds  for  Sparta,  and 
Athens  must  be  what  the  Athenian  ambition  covets." 

"We  cannot  help  it — she  must ;  but  can  it  last.?  Im- 
possible. And  woe  to  her  if  she  ever  comes  in  contact  with  , 
the  bronze  of  Laconian  shields.  But  in  the  meanwhile, 
what  is  to  be  done  with  this  great  and  awful  Heracleid  } 
They  accuse  him  of  Medizing,  of  secret  conspiracy  with  Per- 
sia itself.     Can  that  be  possible  ?  " 


[5S  FAUSAA/AS,    THE  SPARTAN. 

"  If  SO,  it  is  but  to  use  Persia  on  behalf  of  Sparta.  If  he 
would  subdue  Greece,  it  is  not  for  the  king — it  is  for  the  race 
of  Hercules." 

"  Ay,  ay,  ay,"  cried  Agesilaus,  shading  his  face  with  his 
hand.  "  All  becomes  clear  to  me  now.  Listen.  Did  I 
openly  defend  Pausanias  before  the  Ephors,  I  should  injure 
his  cause.  But  when  they  talk  of  his  betraying  Hellas  and 
Sparta,  I  place  before  them,  nakedly  and  broadly,  their  duty 
if  that  charge  be  true.  For  if  true,  O  my  son,  Pausanias 
must  die  as  criminals  die." 

''  Die — criminal — a  Heracleid — king's  blood — the  Vic- 
tor of  Plataea — my  friend  Pausanias  !" 

"  Rather  he  than  Sparta.     What  sayest  thou  ?" 

"Neither,  neither,"  exclaimed  Lysander,  wringing  his 
hands — "  impossible  both." 

"  Impossible  both,  be  it  so,  I  place  before  the  Ephors  the 
terrors  of  accrediting  that  charge,  in  order  that  they  may  re- 
pudiate it.  For  the  lesser  ones  it  matters  not :  he  is  in  no 
danger  there,  save  that  of  fine,  And  his  gold,"  added  Age- 
silaus, with  a  curved  lip  of  disdain,  "will  both  condemn  and 
save  him.  For  the  rest,  I  would  spare  him  the  dishonor  of 
being  publicly  recalled,  and,  to  say  truth,  I  would  save 
Sparta  the  peril  she  might  incur  from  his  wrath,  if  she  in- 
flicted on  him  that  slight.  But  mark  me,  he  himself  must 
resign  his  command,  voluntarily,  and  return  to  Sparta. 
Better  so  for  him  and  his  pride,  for  he  cannot  keep  the 
hegemony  against  the  will  of  the  lonians,  whose  fleet  is  so 
much  larger  than  ours,  and  it  is  to  his  gain  if  his  successor 
lose  it,  not  he.  But  better,  not  only  for  his  pride,  but  for 
his  glory  and  his  name, that  he  should  come  from  these 
scenes  of  fierce  temptation,  and,  since  birth  made  him  a 
Spartan,  learn  here  again  to  conform  to  what  he  cannot 
change.  I  have  spoken  thus  plainly  to  thee.  Use  the  words 
I  have  uttered  as  thou  best  may,  after  thy  return  to  Pausanias, 
which  I  will  strive  to  make  speedy.  But  while  we  talk  there 
goes  on  danger — danger  still  of  his  abrupt  recall — for  there 
are  those  who  will  seize  every  excuse  for  it.  Enough  of 
these  grave  matters  :  the  sun  is  sinking  toward  the  we't, 
and  thy  companions  await  thee  at  thy  feast  ;  mine  will  oe 
eager  to  greet  me  on  thy  return,and  thy  little  brothers,  who 
go  with  me  to  my  pheidition,  will  hear  thee  so  praised  that 
they  will  long  for  the  cfypteia — long  to  be  men,  and  find  some 
future  Plataia  for  themselves.  May  the  gods  forbid  it !  Wat 
is  a   terrible  unsettler.     Time  saps  states,  as  a  tide  the  cliflE 


PAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  i^g 

War  is  an  inundation ;  and  when  it  ebbs,  a  landmark  has 
vanished." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Nothing  so  largely  contributed  to  the  peculiar  character 
of  Spartan  society  as  the  uniform  custom  of  taking  the  prin- 
cipal meal  at  a  public  table.  It  conduced  to  four  objects  :  the 
precise  status  of  aristocracy,  since  each  table  was  formed  ac- 
cording to  title  and  rank  ;  equality  among  aristocrats,  since 
each  at  the  same  table  was  held  the  equal  of  the  other  ;  mili- 
tary union,  for  as  they  feasted  so  they  fought ;  being  formed 
into  divisions  in  the  field  according  as  they  messed  together 
at  home  ;  and,  lastly,  that  sort  of  fellowship  in  public  opinion 
which  intimate  association  among  those  of  the  same  rank  and 
habit  naturally  occasions.  These  tables  in  Sparta  were  sup- 
plied by  private  contributions  ;  each  head  of  a  family  was 
obliged  to  send  a  certain  portion  at  his  own  cost,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  number  of  his  children.  If  his  fortune  did  not 
allow  him  to  do  this,  he  was  excluded  from  the  public  tables. 
Hence,  a  certain  fortune  was  indispensable  to  the  pure  Spar- 
tan, and  this  was  one  reasen  why  it  was  permitted  to  expose 
infants,  if  the  family  threatened  to  be  too  large  for  the  father's 
means.  The  general  arrangements  were  divided  into  syssitia, 
according,  perhaps,  to  the  number  of  families,  and  correspon- 
dent to  the  divisions,  or  obes,  acknowledged  by  the  state. 
Bnt  these  larger  sections  were  again  subdivided  into  compa- 
nies or  clubs  of  fifteen,  vacancies  being  filled  up  by  ballot ; 
but  one  vote  could  exclude.  And  since,  as  we  have  said,  the 
companies  were  marshalled  in  the  field  according  to  their  as- 
sociation at  the  table,  it  is  clear  that  fathers  of  grave  years 
and  of  high  station  (station  in  Sparta  increased  with  years) 
could  not  have  belonged  to  the  same  table  as  the  young  men, 
their  sons.  Their  boys  under  a  certain  age  they  took  to  their 
own  pheiditia,  where  the  children  sat  upon  a  lower  bench,  and 
partook  of  the  simplest  dishes  of  the  fare. 

Though  the  cheer  at  these  public  tables  was  habitually 
plain,  yet  upon  occasion  it  was  enriched  by  presents  to  the 
after-course,  of  game  and  fruit. 

Lysander  was  received  by  his  old  comrades  with  that  cor- 


l6o  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

diality  in  which  was  mingled  for  the  first  time  a  certain  manly 
respect,  due  to  feats  in  battle,  and  so  flattering  to  the  young. 

The  prayer  to  the  gods,  correspondent  to  the  modern 
grace,  and  the  pious  libations  being  concluded,  the  attendant 
Helots  served  the  black  broth,  and  the  party  fell  to,  with  the 
appetite  produced  by  hardy  exercise  and  mountain  air. 

"  What  do  the  allies  say  to  the  black  broth  ? "  asked  a 
young  Spartan. 

"  They  do  not  comprehend  its  merits,"  answered  Lysan- 
der. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Everything  in  the  familiar  life  to  which  he  had  returned 
delighted  the  young  Lysander.  But  for  anxious  thoughts 
about  Pausanias,  he  would  have  been  supremely  blessed.  To 
him  the  various  scenes  of  his  early  years  brought  no  associa- 
tion of  the  restraints  and  harshness  which  revolted  the  more 
luxurious  nature  and  the  fiercer  genius  of  Pausanias.  The 
plunge  into  the  frigid  waters  of  Eurotas — the  sole  bath  per- 
mitted to  the  Spartans*  at  a  time  when  the  rest  of  Greece 
had  already  carried  the  art  of  bathing  into  voluptuous  refine- 
ment ;  the  sight  of  the  vehement  contests  of  the  boys,  drawn 
up  as  in  battle,  at  the  game  of  football,  or  in  detached  en- 
gagements, sparing  each  other  so  little  that  the  popular  be- 
lief out  of  Sparta  was  that  they  were  permitted  to  tear  out 
each  other's  eyes,t  but  subjecting  strength  to  every  skilful  art 
that  g\'mnastics  could  teach  ;  the  mimic  war  on  the  island, 
near  the  antique  trees  of  the  Plane  Garden,  waged  with  wea- 
pons of  wood  and  blunted  iron,  and  the  march  regulated  to 
the  music  of  flutes  and  lyres  ;  nay,  even  the  sight  of  the  stern 
altar,  at  which  boys  had  learned  to  bear  the  anguish  of  stripes 
without  a  murmur — all  produced  in  this  primitive  and  in- 
tensely national  intelligence  an  increased  admiration  for  the 

*  Except  occasionally  the  dry  sudorific  bath,  all  warm  bathing  was 
strictly  forbidden,  as  enervating. 

t  An  evident  exaggeration.  The  Spartans  had  too  great  a  regard  for 
the  physical  gifts  as  essential  to  warlike  uses,  to  permit  cruelties  that 
would  have  blinded  their  young  warriors.  And  they  even  forbade  the 
practice  of  the  pancratium  as  ferocious  and  needlessly  dangerous  tc 
life. 


PAUSANIAS,    THE  SPARTAM.  l6i 

ancestral  laws,  which,  carrying  patience,  fortitude,  address, 
and  strength  to  the  utmost  perfection,  had  formed  a  handful 
of  men  into  the  cahn  lords  of  a  tierce  population,  and  placed 
the  fenceless  villages  of  Sparta  beyond  a  fear  of  the  external 
assaults  and  the  civil  revolution  which  perpetually  stormed 
the  citadels  and  agitated  the  market-places  of  Hellenic  cities. 
His  was  not  the  mind  to  perceive  that  much  was  relinquished 
for  the  sake  of  that  which  was  gained,  or  to  comprehend  that 
there  was  more  which  consecrates  humanity  in  one  stormy- 
day  of  Athens  than  in  a  serene  century  of  iron  Lacedaemon. 
But  there  is  ever  beauty  of  soul  where  there  is  enthusiastic 
love  of  country  ;  and  the  young  Spartan  was  wise  in  his  own 
Dorian  way. 

The  religious  festival  which  had  provided  the  Ephors  with 
an  excuse  for  delaying  their  answer  to  the  Ionian  envoys  oc- 
cupied the  city.  The  youths  and  the  maidens  met  in  the 
sacred  chorus  ;  and  Lysander,  standing  by  amidst  the  gazers, 
suddenly  felt  his  heart  beat.  A  boy  pulled  him  by  the  skirt 
of  his  mantle. 

"  Lysander,  hast  thou  yet  scolded  Percalus  ?  "  said  the 
boy's  voice,  archly. 

*'  My  young  friend,"  answered  Lysander,  coloring  high, 
"  Percalus  hath  vouchsafed  me  as  yet  no  occasion  ;  and,  in- 
deed, she  alone,  of  all  the  friends  whom  I  left  behind,  does 
not  seem  to  recognize  me." 

His  eyes,  as  he  spoke,  rested  with  a  mute  reproach  in 
their  gaze  on  the  form  of  a  virgin  who  had  just  paused  in  the 
choral  dance,  and  whose  looks  were  bent  obdurately  on  the 
ground.  Her  luxuriant  hair  was  drawn  upward  from  cheek 
and  brow,  braided  into  a  knot  at  the  crown  of  the  head,  in 
the  fashion  so  trying  to  those  who  have  neither  bloom  nor 
beauty,  so  exquisitely  becoming  to  those  who  have  both  ;  and 
the  maiden,  even  amidst  Spartan  girls,  was  pre-eminently 
lovely.  It  is  true  that  the  sun  had  somewhat  embrowned 
the  smooth  cheek  ;  but  the  stately  throat  and  the  rounded 
arms  were  admirably  fair — not,  indeed,  with  the  pale  and 
dead  whiteness  which  the  Ionian  women  sought  to  obtain  by 
art,  but  with  the  delicate  rose-hue  of  Hebe's  youth.  Her 
garment  of  snow-white  wool,  fastened  over  both  shoulders 
with  large  golden  clasps,  was  without  sleeves,  fitting  not  too 
tightly  to  the  harmonious  form,  and  leaving  more  than  the 
ankle  free  to  the  easy  glide  of  the  dance.  Taller  than  Hel- 
lenic women  usually  were,  but  about  the  average  height  of 
her  Spartan  companions,  her  shape  was  that  which  the  sculp 


1 62  PAUSANFAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

tors  give  to  Artemis.  Light  and  feminine  and  virgin-like, 
but  with  all  the  rich  vitality  of  a  divine  youth,  with  a  force, 
not  indeed  of  a  man,  but  such  as  art  would  give  to  the  god- 
dess whose  step  bounds  over  the  mountain-top,  and  whose 
arm  can  launch  the  shaft  from  the  silver  bow — yet  was  there 
something  in  the  mien  and  face  of  Percalus  more  subdued 
and  bashful  than  in  those  of  most  of  the  girls  around  her ; 
and,  as  if  her  ear  had  caught  Lysander's  words,  a  smile  just 
now  played  round  her  lips,  and  gave  to  all  the  countenance 
a  wonderful  sweetness.  Then,  as  it  became  her  turn  once 
more  to  join  in  the  circling  measure,  she  lifted  her  eyes 
directed  them  full  upon  the  young  Spartan,  and  the  eyes 
said  plainly,  "  Ungrateful  !     1  forget  thee  !     I !  " 

It  was  but  one  glance,  and  she  seemed  again  wholly  in 
tent  upon  the  dance  ,  but  Lysander  felt  as  if  he  had  tasted 
the  nectar  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  courts  of  the  gods. 
No  further  approach  was  made  by  either,  although  intervals 
in  the  evening  permitted  it.  But  if,  on  the  one  hand,  there 
was  in  Sparta  an  intercourse  between  the  youth  of  both  sexes 
wholly  unknown  in  most  of  the  Grecian  States,  and  if  that 
intercourse  made  marriages  of  love  especially  more  common 
there  than  eleswhere,  yet,  when  love  did  actually  exist,  and 
was  acknowledged  by  some  young  pair,  they  shunned  public 
notice ;  the  passion  became  a  secret,  or  confidants  to  it  were 
few.  Then  came  the  charm  of  stealth  :  to  woo  and  to  win, 
as  if  the  treasure  were  to  be  robbed  by  a  lover  from  the 
heaven  unknown  to  man.  Accordingly,  Lysander  now  mixed 
with  the  spectators,  conversed  cheerfully,  only  at  distant  in- 
tervals permitted  his  eyes  to  turn  to  Percalus,  and  when  her 
part  in  the  chorus  had  concluded,  a  sigh,  undetected  by 
others,  seemed  to  have  been  exchanged  between  them,  and, 
a  little  while  after,  Lysander  had  disappeared  from  the 
assembly. 

He  wandered  down  the  street  called  the  Aphetais,  and 
after  a  little  while  the  way  became  perfectly  still  and  lonely, 
for  the  inhabitants  had  crowded  to  the  sacred  festival,  and 
the  houses  lay  quiet  and  scattered.  So  he  went  on,  passing 
the  ancient  temple  in  which  Ulysses  is  said  to  have  dedi- 
cated a  statue  in  honor  of  his  victory  in  the  race  over  the 
suiters  of  Penelope,  and  paused  where  the  ground  lay  bare 
and  rugged  around  many  a  monument  to  the  fabled  chiefs  of 
tlie  heroic  age.  Upon  a  crag  that  jutted  over  a  silent  hollow, 
covered  with  oleander  and  arbute,  and  here  and  there  the 
wild  rose,  the  young  lover  sat  down,  waiting  patiently  •  foi 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTA!^.  163 

the  eyes  of  Percalus  had  told  him  he  should  not  wait  in  vain. 
Afar  he  saw,  in  the  exceeding  clearness  of  the  atmosphere, 
the  Taenarium,  or  Temple  of  Neptune,  unprophetic  of  the 
dark  connection  that  shrine  would  hereafter  have  with  him 
whom  he  then  honored  as  a  chief  worthy,  after  death,  of  a 
monument  amidst  those  heroes ;  and  the  gale  that  cooled  his 
forehead  wandered  to  him  from  the  field  of  the  Hellanium 
in  which  the  envoys  of  Greece  had  taken  council  how  to  oi> 
pose  the  march  of  Xerxes,  when  his  myriads  first  poured  in'o 
Lurope. 

Alas !  all  the  great  passions  that  distinguish  race  from 
race  pass  away  in  the  tide  of  generations.  The  enthusiasm 
of  soul  which  gives  us  heroes  and  demi-gods  for  ancestors,  and 
hallows  their  empty  tombs  ;  the  vigor  of  thoughtful  freedom 
which  guards  the  soil  from  invasion,  and  shivers  force  upon 
the  edge  of  intelligence.  The  heroic  age  and  the  civilized 
alike  depart ;  and  he  who  wanders  through  the  glens  of 
Laconia  can  scarcely  guess  where  was  the  monument  of 
Lelex,  or  the  field  of  the  Hellanium.  And  yet  on  the  same 
spot  where  sat  the  young  Spartan  warrior,  waiting  for  the 
steps  of  the  beloved  one,  may,  at  this  very  hour,  some  rustic 
lover  be  seated,  with  a  heart  beating  with  like  emotions,  and 
an  ear  listening  for  as  light  a  tread.  Love  alone  never 
passes  away  from  the  spot  where  its  footstep  hath  once 
pressed  the  earth,  and  reclaimed  the  savage.  Traditions, 
freedom,  the  thirst  for  glory,  art,  laws,  creeds,  vanish ;  but 
the  eye  thrills  the  breast,  and  hand  warms  to  hand,  as  before 
the  name  of  Lycurgus  was  heard,  or  Helen  was  borne  a 
bride  to  the  home  of  Menelaus.  Under  the  influence  of  this 
power,  then,  something  of  youth  is  still  retained  by  nations 
the  most  worn  with  time.  But  the  power  thus  eternal  in 
nations  is  short-lived  for  the  individual  being.  Brief,  in- 
deed, in  the  life  of  each  is  that  season  which  lasts  forever  in 
the  life  of  all. — From  the  old  age  of  nations  glory  fades  away ; 
but  in  their  utmost  decrepitude  there  is  still  a  generation 
young  enough  to  love.  To  the  individual  man,  however, 
glory  alone  remains  when  the  snows  of  ages  have  fallen,  and 
love  is  but  the  memory  of  a  boyish  dream.  No  wonder  that 
the  Greek  genius,  half  incredulous  of  the  soul,  clung  with 
such  tenacity  to  youth.  What  a  sigh  from  the  heart  of  the 
old  sensuous  world  breathes  in  the  strain  of  Mimnermus,  be- 
wailing with  so  fierce  and  so  deep  a  sorrow  the  advent  of  the 
years  in  which  man  is  loved  no  more  ! 

Lysander's  eye  was  still  along  the  solitary  road,  when  he 


164  FAUSANTAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

heard  a  low,  musical  laugh  behind  him.  He  started  in  sur- 
prise, and  beheld  Percalus.  Her  mirth  was  increased  by  his 
astonished  gaze,  till,  in  revenge,  he  caught  both  her  hands, 
and,  drawing  her  toward  him,  kissed,  not  vyithout  a  struggle, 
the  lips  into  serious  gravity. 

Extricating  herself  from  him,  the  maiden  put  on  an  air 
of  offended  dignity,  and  Lysander,  abashed  at  his  own  auda- 
city, muttered  some  broken  words  of  penitence. 

"  But,  indeed,''  he  added,  as  he  saw  the  cloud  vanishing 
from  her  brow,  "  indeed  thou  wert  so  provoking,  and  so  irre- 
sistibly beauteous.  And  how  earnest  thou  here,  as  if  thou 
hadst  dropped  from  the  heavens .''  " 

"  Didst  thou  think,"  answered  Percalus,  demurely,  "  chat 
I  could  be  suspected  of  following  thee  ?  Nay  ;  I  tarried  till 
I  could  accompany  Euryclea  to  her  home  yonder,  and  then, 
slipping  from  her  by  her  door,  I  came  across  the  grass  and 
the  glen  to  search  for  the  arrow  shot  yesterday  in  the  hollow 
below  thee."  So  saying,  she  tripped  from  the  crag  by  his 
side  into  the  nooked  recess  below,  which  was  all  out  of  sight, 
in  case  some  passenger  should  pass  the  road,  and  where, 
stooping  down,  she  seemed  to  busy  herself  in  searching  for 
the  shaft  amidst  the  odorous  shrubs. 

Lysander  was  not  slow  in  following  her  footsteps. 

"  Thine  arrow  is  here,"  said  he,  placing  his  hand  to  his 
heart. 

"  Fie  !     The  Ionian  poets  teach  thee  these  compliments." 

"  Not  so.  Who  hath  sung  more  of  Love  and  his  arrows 
than  our  own  Alcman  .''  " 

"  Mean  you  the  Regent's  favorite  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  The  ancient  Alcman  ;  the  poet  whom  even  the 
Ephors  sanction." 

Percalus  ceased  to  seek  for  the  arrow,  and  they  seated 
themselves  on  a  little  knoll  in  the  hollow,  side  by  side,  and 
frankly  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  listened,  with  rosy  cheek 
and  rising  bosom,  to  his  honest  wooing.  He  told  her  truly 
how  her  image  had  been  with  him  in  the  strange  lands  ;  how 
faithful  he  had  been  to  the  absent,  amidst  all  the  beauties  of 
the  Isles  and  of  the  East.  He  reminded  her  of  their  early 
days — how,  even  as  children,  each  had  sought  the  other.  He 
spoke  of  his  doubts,  his  fears,  lest  he  should  find  himself  for- 
gotten or  replaced  ;  and  how  everjoyed  he  had  been  when  at 
last  her  eye  replied  to  his. 

"  And  we  understood  each  other  so  well,  did  we  not,  Per- 
calus ?     Here  we  have  so  often  met  before  ;  here  we   parted 


PAUSAN/AS,   THE  SPARTAN.  1 65 

last :  here  thou  knewest  I  should  go  :  here  I  knew  that  I 
might  await  thee." 

Percakis  did  not  answer  at  much  length,  but  what  she 
said  sufficed  to  enchant  her  lover.  For  the  education  of  a 
Spartan  maid  did  not  favor  the  affected  concealment  of  real 
feelings.  It  could  not,  indeed,  banish  what  Nature  prescribes 
to  women — the  modest  self-estem,  the  difficulty  to  utter  by 
word  what  eye  and  blush  reveal — nor,  perhaps,  something  of 
that  arch  and  innocent  malice  which  enjoys  to  taste  the  power 
which  beauty  exercises  before  the  warm  heart  will  freely  ac- 
knowledge the  power  which  sways  itself.  But  the  girl,  though 
a  little  wilful  and  high  spirited,  was  a  candid,  pure,  and  no- 
ble creature,  and  too  proud  of  being  loved  by  Lysander  to 
feel  more  than  a  maiden's  shame  to  confess  her  own. 

"  And  when  I  return,"  said  the  Spartan,  '*ah  !  then,  look 
out  and  take  care  ;  for  I  shall  speak  to  thy  father,  gain  his 
consent  to  our  betrothal,  and  then  carry  thee  away  despite  all 
thy  struggles,  to  the  bridesmaid,  and  these  long  locks,  alas  ! 
will  fall." 

*'  I  thank  thee  for  thy  warning,  and  will  find  my  arrow  in 
time  to  guard  myself,"  said  Percalus,  turning  away  her  face, 
but  holding  up  her  hand  in  pretty  menace  ;  "  but  where  is 
the  arrow  ?     I  must  make  haste  and  find  it." 

"  Thou  wilt  have  time  enough,  courteous  Amazon,  in 
mine  absence,  for  I  must  soon  return  to  Byzantium." 

Fercalus.     "  Art  thou  so  sure  of  that .''  " 

Lysa7ider.     "  Why — dost  thou  doubt  it  ?  " 

Fercalus  (rising  and  moving  the  arbute  boughs  aside  with 
the  tip  of  her  sandal).  "  And  unless  thou  wouldst  wait  very 
long  for  my  father's  consent,  perchance  thou  mayst  have  to 
ask  for  it  very  soon — too  soon  to  prepare  thy  courage  for  so 
great  a  peril." 

Lysander  (perplexed).  "  \Vhat  canst  thou  mean  ?  By 
all  the  gods,  I  pray  thee  speak  plain  !  " 

Fercalus.  "  If  Pausanias  be  recalled,  wouldst  thou  still 
go  to  Byzantium  }  " 

Lysander.  "  No  ;  but  I  think  the  Ephors  have  decided 
not  so  to  discredit  their  General." 

1  ercalus  (shaking  her  head  incredulously).  '*  Count  not 
on  their  decision  so  surely,  valiant  warrior.  And  suppose 
that  Pausanias  is  recalled,  and  that  some  one  else  is  sent  in 
his  place  whose  absence  would  prevent  thy  obtaining  that 
consent  thou  covetest,  and  so  frustrate  thy  designs  on — on — " 
(she  added,  blushing  scarlet) — "  on  these  poor  locks  of  mine." 


l66  rAUSANTAS,   TFTE  SPARTA?^. 

Lysauder  (starting).  "  Oh,  Percalus,  do  I  conceive  thee 
aright  ?  Hast  thou  any  reason  to  think  that  thy  father  Dorcis 
•will  be  sent  to  replace  Pausanias — the  great  Pausanias  ?  " 

Fcrcalus  (a  little  offended  at  a  tone  of  expression  which 
seemed  to  slight  her  father's  pretensions).  *'  Dorcis,  my  fa 
ther,  is  a  warrior  whom  Sparta  reckons  second  to  none ;  a 
most  brave  captain,  and  every  inch  a  Spartan  ;  but — but — " 

Lysauder.  "  Percalus,  do  not  trifle  with  me.  Thou  know* 
est  how  my  fate  has  been  linked  to  the  Regent's.  Thou 
must  have  intelligence  not  shared  even  by  my  father,  himself 
an  Ephor.     What  is  it  ?  " 

Percalus.  "  Thou  wilt  be  secret,  my  Lysander,  for  what 
I  may  tell  thee  I  can  only  learn  by  the  hearthstone.,' 

Lysander.  "  Fear  me  not.  Is  not  all  between  us  a  se- 
cret ?  " 

Percalus.  "  Well,  then,  Periclides  and  my  father,  as  thou 
art  aware,  are  near  kinsmen.  And  when  the  Ionian  envoys 
first  arrived,  it  was  my  father  who  was  specially  appointed  to 
see  to  their  fitting  entertainment.  And  that  same  night  I 
overheard  Dorcis  say  to  my  mother,  '  If  I  could  succeed  Pau- 
sanias, and  conclude  this  war,  I  should  be  consoled  for  not 
having  commanded  at  Plataea.'  And  my  mother,  who  is 
proud  for  her  husband's  glory,  as  a  woman  should  be,  said, 
*  Wliy  not  strain  every  ner\^e  as  for  a  crown  in  Olympia  ? 
Periclides  will  aid  thee — thou  wilt  win.'  " 

Lysander.  "  But  that  was  the  first  night  of  the  lonians' 
arrival." 

Pcrealus.  "  Since  then  I  believe  that  thy  father  and  oth- 
ers of  the  Ephors  overruled  Periclides  and  Zeuxidamus,  for 
I  have  heard  all  that  passed  between  my  father  and  mother 
on  the  subject.  But  early  this  morning,  while  my  mother 
was  assisting  to  attire  me  for  the  festival,  Periclides  himself 
called  at  our  house,  and  before  I  came  from  home,  my  mother 
after  a  short  conference  with  Dorcis,  said  to  me,  in  the  ex- 
uberance of  her  joy,  '  Go,  child,  and  call  here  all  the  maid- 
ens, as  thy  father  ere  long  will  go  to  outshine  all  the  Grecian 
chiefs,'  So  that  if  my  father  does  go,  thou  wilt  remain  in 
Sparta.  Then,  my  beloved  Lysander — and — and — but  what 
ails  thee  ?     Is  that  thought  so  sorrowful .? " 

Lysander.  "  Pardon  me,  pardon  ;  thou  art  a  Spartan 
maid;  thou  must  comprehend  what  should  be  felt  by  a  Spar- 
tan soldier  when  he  thinks  of  humiliation  and  ingratitude  to 
his  chief.  Gods  !  the  man  who  rolled  back  the  storm  of  the 
Mede  to  be  insulted  in  the  face  of  Hellas  by  the  government 


FA  us  AN/AS,  THE  SPARTA  AT.  167 

of  his  native  city !     The  blush  of  shame  upon  his  cheek  burns 
my  own." 

The  warrior  bowed  his  face  in  his  clasped  hands. 

Not  a  resentful  thought  natural  to  female  vanity  and  ex- 
acting affection  then  crossed  the  mind  of  the  Spartan  girl 
She  felt  at  once,  by  the  sympathy  of  kindred  nurture,  all  that 
was  torturing  her  lover.  She  was  even  prouder  of  him  that 
he  forgot  her  for  the  moment  to  be  so  truthful  to  his  chief ; 
and  abandoning  the  innocent  coyness  she  had  before  shown, 
she  put  her  arm  round  his  neck  with  a  pure  and  sisterly  fond- 
ness, and,  kissing  his  brow,  whispered,  soothingly,"  It  is  for 
me  to  ask  pardon,  that  I  did  not  think  of  this — that  I  spoke 
so  foolishly  ;  but  comfort — thy  chief  is  not  disgraced  even  by 
recall.  Let  them  recall  Pausanias,  they  can  not  recall  his 
glory.  When,  in  Sparta,  did  we  ever  hold  a  brave  man  dis- 
credited by  obedience  to  the  government }  None  are  dis- 
graced who  do  not  disgrace  themselves." 

"  Ah  !  my  Percalus,  so  I  should  say  ;  but  so  will  not 
think  Pausanias,  nor  the  allies  ;  and  in  this  slight  to  him  I  see 
the  shadow  of  the  Erinnys.  But  it  may  not  be  true  yet ;  nor 
can  Periclides  of  himself  dispose  thus  of  the  Lacedaemonian 
armies." 

"  We  will  hope  so,  dear  Lysander,"  said  Percalus,  who, 
born  to  be  man's  helpmate,  then  only  thought  of  consoling 
and  cheering  him.  "  And  if  thou  dost  return  to  the  camp, 
tarry  as  long  as  thou  wilt,  thou  wilt  find  Percalus  the  same." 

"  The  gods  bless  thee,  maiden !"  said  Lysander,  with 
grateful  passion,"  and  blessed  be  the  state  that  rears  such 
women  !     Elsewhere  Greece  knows  them  not." 

"And  does  Greece  elsewhere  know  such  men  ?"  asked 
Percalus,  raising  her  graceful  head.  "  But  so  late — ^is  it 
possible  ?  See  where  the  shadows  are  falling  !  Thou  wilt 
but  be  in  time  for  thy  pheidition.     Farewell." 

"  But  when  to  meet  again  ?" 

"  Alas  !  when  we  can."  She  sprung  lightly  away  ;  then, 
turning  her  face  as  she  fled,  added,"  Look  out !  thou  wert 
taught  to  steal  in  thy  boyhood — steal  an  interview.  I  will  be 
thy  accomplice." 


1 68  PAUSANIAS,   THE  S TARTAN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

That  night,  as  Agesilaus  was  leaving  the  public  table  a1 
which  he  supped,  Periclides,  who  was  one  of  the  same  com- 
pany, but  who  had  been  unusually  silent  during  the  enter- 
tainment, approached  him,  and  said,  "  Let  us  walk  toward 
thy  home  together  ;  the  moon  is  up,  and  will  betray  listeners 
to  our  converse,  should  there  be  any." 

"  And  in  default  of  the  moon,  thy  years,  if  not  yet  mine, 
permit  thee  a  lantern,  Periclides." 

"  I  have  not  drunk  enough  to  need  it,"  answered  the 
chief  of  the  Ephors,  with  unusual  pleasantr)' ;  "  but  as  thou 
art  the  younger  man,  I  will  lean  on  thine  arm,  so  as  to  be 
closer  to  thine  ear." 

"  Thou  hast  something  secret  and  grave  to  say,  then  ?  " 

Periclides  nodded. 

As  they  ascended  the  rugged  aclivity,  different  groups, 
equally  returning  home  from  the  public  tables,  passed  them. 
Though  the  sacred  festival  had  given  excuse  for  prolonging 
the  evening  meal,  and  the  wine-cup  had  been  replenished 
beyond  the  abstemious  wont;  still  each  little  knot  of  revellers 
passed  and  dispersed  in  a  sober  and  decorous  quiet  which, 
perhaps,  no  other  eminent  city  in  Greece  could  have  ex- 
hibited ;  young  and  old  equally  grave  and  noiseless.  For 
the  Spartan  youth,  no  fair  Hetaerse  then  opened  homes 
adorned  with  flowers,  and  gay  with  wit,  no  less  than  alluring 
with  beauty  ;  but  as  the  streets  grew  more  deserted,  there 
stood  in  the  thick  shadow  of  some  angle,  or  glided  furtively 
by  some  winding  wall,  a  bridegroom  lover,  tarrjdng  till  all 
was  still,  to  steal  to  the  arms  of  his  lawful  wife,  whom  for 
years  perhaps  he  might  not  openly  acknowledge  and  carry  in 
triumph  to  his  home. 

But  not  of  such  young  adventurers  thought  the  sage  Peri- 
clides, though  his  voice  was  as  low  as  a  lover's  "  hist !  "  and 
his  step  as  stealthy  as  a  bridegroom's  tread. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  with  the  faint  gray  of  the  dawn 
there  comes  to  my  house  a  new  messenger  from  the  camp, 
and  the  tidings  he  brings  change  all  our  decisions.  The 
Festival  does  not  permit  us  as  Ephors  to  meet  in  public,  oi 


PAUSAN/AS,  THE  SPARTAN.  169 

at  least,  I  think  thou  wilt  agree  with  me,  it  is  more  prudent 
not  to  do  so.  All  we  should  do  now  should  be  in  strict 
privacy." 

"  But,  hush  !  from  whom  the  message — Pausanias  ?  " 

"  No — from  Aristides  the  Athenian." 

"  And  to  what  effect  ?  " 

"  The  lonians  have  revolted  from  the  Spartan  hegemony, 
and  ranged  themselves  under  the  Athenian  flag." 

"  Gods  !  what  I  feared  has  already  come  to  pass." 

"  And  Aristides  writes  to  me,  with  whom  you  remember 
that  he  has  the  hospitable  ties,  that  the  Athenians  cannot 
abandon  their  Ionian  allies  and  kindred  who  thus  appeal  to 
them  ;  and  that  if  Pausanias  remain,  open  war  may  break 
out  between  the  two  divisions  into  which  the  fleet  of  Hellas 
is  now  rent." 

"  This  must  not  be,  for  it  would  be  war  at  sea  ;  we  and 
the  Peloponnesians  have  far  the  fewer  vessels,  the  less  able 
seamen.     Sparta  w^ould  be  conquered." 

"  Rather  than  Sparta  should  be  conquered,  must  we  not 
recall  her  General .''  " 

"  I  would  give  all  my  lands,  and  sink  out  of  the  rank  of 
Equal,  that  this  bad  not  chanced,"  said  Agesilaus,  bitterly. 

"  Hist !  hist !  not  so  loud." 

"  I  had  hoped  we  might  induce  the  Regent  himself  to 
resign  the  command,  and  so  have  been  spared  the  shame 
and  the  pain  of  an  act  that  affects  the  hero-blood  of  our 
kings.     Could  not  that  be  done  yet  ?  " 

"  Dost  thou  think  so  ?  Pausanias  resign  in  the  midst  of 
a  mutiny  !     Thou  canst  not  know  the  man." 

"  Thou  art  right — impossible.  I  see  no  option  now\  He 
must  be  recalled.  But  the  Spartan  hegemony  is,  then,  gone 
— gone  forever — gone  to  Athens." 

'"  Not  so.     Sparta  hath  many  a  worthy  son  besides  this 
too  arrogant  Heracleid." 

"  Yes ;  but  where  his  genius  of  command  ? — where  his 
immense  renown  ? — where  a  man,  I  say,  not  in  Sparta,  but 
in  all  Greece,  fit  to  cope  with  Aristides  and  Cimon  in  the 
camp,  with  Themistocles  in  the  city  of  our  rivals  ?  If  Pau- 
sanias fails,  who  succeeds  ?  " 

"  Be  not  deceived.  What  must  be,  must ;  it  is  but  a 
little  time  earlier  than  necessity  would  have  fixed.  Wouldst 
thou  take  the  command  ?  " 

"I  ?     The  gods  forbid  ! ' 

•*  Then,  if  thou  wilt  not,  I  know  but  one  man." 


lyo  PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN. 

"  And  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Dorcis." 

Agesilaus  started,  and,  by  the  Ught  of  the  moon,  gazed 
full  upon  the  face  of  the  chief  Ephor. 

"  Thy  kinsman,  Dorcis  !  Ah,  Periclides,  hast  thou 
schemed  this  from  the  first  ?  " 

Periclides  changed  color  at  finding  himself  thus  abruptly 
detected,  and  as  abruptly  charged ;  however,  he  answered 
with  laconic  dr}-ness  : 

"  Friend,  did  I  scheme  the  revolt  of  the  lonians  ?  But  if 
thou  knowest  a  better  man  than  Dorcis,  speak.  Is  he  not 
brave  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Skilful  ?  " 

"  No.  Tut !  thou  art  as  conscious  as  I  am  that  thou 
mightest  as  well  compare  the  hat  on  thy  brow  to  the  brain  it 
hides,  as  liken  the  stolid  Dorcis  to  thy  fiery  but  profound 
Heracleid." 

"  Ay,  ay.  But  there  is  one  merit  the  hat  has  which  the 
brow  has  not — it  can  do  no  harm.  Shall  we  send  our  chiefs 
to  be  made  worse  men  by  Eastern  manners  .''  Dorcis  has 
dull  wit,  granted  ;  no  arts  can  corrupt  it.  He  may  not  save 
the  hegemony,  but  he  will  return  as  he  went,  a  Spartan." 

"  Thou  art  right  again,  and  a  wise  man,  Periclides.  I 
submit.  Thou  hast  my  vote  for  Dorcis.  What  else  hast 
thou  designed  ?  for  I  see  now  that  whatever  thou  designest 
that  wilt  thou  accomplish;  and  our  meeting  on  the  Archeion 
is  but  an  idle  form." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Periclides,  Avith  his  austere  smile, 
"  thou  givest  me  a  wit  and  a  will  that  I  have  not.  But  as 
chief  of  the  Ephors  I  watch  over  the  state.  And  though  I 
design  nothing,  this  I  would  counsel  :  On  the  day  we  answer 
the  lonians,  we  shall  tell  them,  '  What  ye  ask,  we  long  siijce 
proposed  to  do.'  And  Dorcis  is  already  on  the  seas  as  suc- 
cessor to  Pausanias." 

"  When  will  Dorcis  leave  ?  "  said  Agesilaus,  curtly. 

"  If  the  other  Ephors  concur,  to-morrow  night." 

"  Here  we  are  at  my  doors  ;  wilt  thou  not  enter  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  others  yet  to  see.  I  knew  we  should  be  of 
the  same  mind." 

Agesilaus  made  no  reply ;  but  as  he  entered  the  court- 
yard of  his  house,  he  muttered  uneasily, — 

"  And  if  Lysander  is  right,  and  Sparta  is  too  small  for 
Pau?5anias,  do  we  not  bring  back  a  giant  who  will  widen  it  to 


PAUSANIAS,   THE  SPARTAN.  jyi 

his  own  girth,  and  raze  the  old  foundations  to  make  room  for 
the  buildings  he  would  add  ?  " 

(unfinished.) 

[The  pages  covered  by  the  manuscript  of  this  uncom- 
pleted story  of  "  Pausanias  "  are  scarcely  more  numerous 
than  those  which  its  author  has  filled  with  the  notes  made  by 
him  from  works  consulted  with  special  reference  to  the  sub- 
ject of  it.  Those  notes  (upon  Greek  and  Persian  antiquities) 
are  wholly  without  interest  for  the  general  public.  They 
illustrate  the  author's  conscientious  industry,  but  they  afford 
no  clue  to  the  plot  of  his  romance.  Under  the  sawdust, 
however,  thus  fallen  in  the  industrial  process  of  an  imagina- 
tive work,  unhappily  unfinished,  I  have  found  two  specimens 
of  original  composition.  They  are  rough  sketches  erf  songs 
expressly  composed  for  "  Pausanias  ;  "  and,  since  they  are 
not  included  in  the  foreoging  portion  of  it,  I  think  they  may 
properly  be  added  here.  The  unrhymed  lyrics  introduced  by 
my  father  into  some  of  the  opening  chapters  of  this  romance 
appear  to  have  been  suggested  by  some  fragments  of  Mim- 
nermus,  and  composed  about  the  same  time  as  "  The  Lost 
Tales  of  Miletus."  Indeed,  one  of  them  has  been  already 
printed  in  that  work.  The  following  verses,  however,  which 
are  rhymed,  bear  evidence  of  having  been  composed  at  a 
much  earlier  period.  I  know  not  whether  it  was  my  father's 
intention  to  discard  them  altogether,  or  to  alter  them  materi- 
ally, or  to  insert  them  without  alteration  in  some  later  portion 
of  the  romance.  But  I  print  them  here  precisely  as  they  are 
written. — L.] 

FOR  PAUSANIAS. 

[Partially  borrowed  from  Aristophane's  "  Peace,"  v.  1 127,  etc.] 

Away,  away,  with  the  hehn  and  greaves. 
Away  with  the  leeks  and  cheese  1  * 
I  have  conquer'd  my  passion  for  wounds  and  blows, 
And  the  worst  that  I  wish  to  the  worst  of  my  foes 
Is  the  glory  and  gain 
Of  a  year's  campaign 
On  a  diet  of  leeks  and  cheese. 

•  ,     Cheese  and  onions,  the  rations  furnished 

to  soldiers  in  campaign. 


'17a  PA  us  A  KI AS,   THE  SPARTAN-. 

I  love  to  drink  by  my  own  warni  hearth, 
Nourished  with  logs  from  the  pine-clad  heights, 

Which  were  hewn  in  the  blaze  of  the  summer  sun 
To  treasure  his  rays  for  the  winter  nights 

On  the  hearth  where  my  grandam  spun. 

I  love  to  drink  of  the  grape  I  press, 
And  to  drink  with  a  friend  of  y^re  ; 

Quick  1  bring  me  a  bough  from  the  myrtle-tree 
Which  is  budding  afresh  by  Nicander's  door. 

Tell  Nicander  himself  he  must  sup  with  me, 

And  along  with  the  bough  from  his  myrtle-tree 

We  will  circle  the  lute,  in  a  choral  glee 
To  the  goddess  of  corn  and  peace. 

For  Nicander  and  I  were  fast  friends  at  school. 

Here  he  comes  !     We  are  boys  once  more. 

When  the  grasshopper  chants  in  the  bells  of  thyme, 
I  love  to  watch  if  the  Lemnian  grape* 
Is  donning  the  purple  that  decks  its  prime; 
And,  as  I  sit  at  my  porch  to  see, 
With  my  little  one  trying  to  scale  my  knee, 
To  join  in  the  grasshopper's  chant,  and  sing 
To  Apollo  and  Pan  from  the  heart  of  Spring,  f 
Listen,  O  list  I 

Hear  ye  not,  neighbors,  the  voice  of  Peace  ? 
"The  swallow  I  hear  in  the  household  eaves." 

lo  /Egien  !  Peace  ! 
"  An<i  the  skylark  at  poise  o'er  the  bended  sheaves," 

lo  -'Egien  1  Peace  ! 

Here  and  there,  everywhere,  hear  we  Peace, 
Hear  her,  and  see  her,  and  clasp  her — Peace  I 
The  grasshopper  chants  on  the  bells  of  thyme, 
And  the  halcyon  is  back  to  her  nest  in  Greece  1 


IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  ATHENIAN  KNIGHTS. 

[Imitated  from  the  "  Knights"  of  Aristophanes,  v.  565,  etc.] 

Chant  the  fame  of  the  Knights,  or  in  war  or  in  peace, 
Chant  the  darlings  of  Athens,  *  the  bulwarks  of  Greece, 

*It  ripened  earlier  than  the  others.     The  words  of  the  Chorus  are, 

tVariation — 

"  What  a  blessing  is  life  in  a  noon  of  Spring." 

•  Variation — 

•'  The  adorners  of  Athens,  the  bulwarks  of  Greece." 


PA  USA NI AS,  THE  SPARTAN:  173 

Pressing  foremost  to  glory,  on  wave  and  on  shore, 
Where  the  steed  has  no  footing  they  win  with  the  oar.  t 

On  their  bosoms  the  battle  splits,  wasting  its  shock. 
If  they  charge  like  the  whirlwind,  they  stand  like  the  rock. 
Ha  !  they  count  not  the  numbers,  they  scan  not  the  ground  ; 
When  a  foe  comes  in  sight,  on  his  lances  they  bound. 

Fails  a  foot  in  its  speed  ?  heed  it  not.     One  and  all  % 
Spurn  the  earth  that  they  spring  from,  and  own  not  a  fall. 
Oh  the  darlings  of  Athens,  the  bulwarks  of  Greece, 
Wherefore  envy  the  love-locks  they  perfume  in  peace  I 

Wherefore  scowl  if  they  fondle  a  quail  or  a  dove, 
Or  inscribe  on  a  myrtle  the  names  that  they  love  ? 
Does  Alcides  not  teach  us  how  valor  is  mild  ? 
Lo,  at  rest  from  his  labors  he  plays  with  a  child. 

When  the  slayer  of  Python  has  put  down  his  bow, 
By  his  lute  and  his  love-locks  Apollo  we  know. 
Fear'd,  O  rowers,  those  gallants  their  beauty  to  spoil 
When  they  sat  on  your  benches,  and  shared  in  your  toil  ? 

When  with  laughter  they  row'd  to  your  cry  "Hippopai," 
"  On,  ye  coursers  of  wood,  for  the  palm  wreath,  away!" 
Did  those  dainty  youths  ask  you  to  store  in  your  holds 
Or  a  cask  from  their  crypt  or  a  Iamb  from  their  folds  ? 

No,  they  cried,  "  We  are  here  both  to  fight  and  to  fast, 
Place  us  first  in  the  fight,  at  the  board  serve  us  last  1 
Wheresoever  is  peril,  we  knights  lead  the  way, 
Wheresoever  is  hardship,  we  claim  it  as  pay. 

Call  us  proud,  O  Athenians,  we  know  it  full  well, 
And  we  give  you  the  life  we're  too  haughty  to  sell." 
Hail  the  stoutest  in  war,  hail  the  mildest  in  peace, 
Hail  the  darlings  of  Athens,  the  bulwarks  of  Greece  I 

t  Variation — 

"Keenest  racers  to  glory,  on  wave  or  on  shore. 
By  the  rush  of  the  steed  or  the  stroke  of  the  oar  I" 

J  Variation — 

'*  Falls  there  one  ?  never  help  him  !    Our  knights  one  and  all. 


THE 


PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


BY 

EDWARD    BULWER,  LORD  LYTTON. 


CHICAGO  AXD  NEW  YORK : 
BELFORD,  CLARKE   &   COMPANY, 

PUBLTSHERS. 


TROWS 

♦-BINTrNG  AND  BOOKBINDINQ  COMPANV, 

NEW   YORK. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  Queen  Nyniphalin.         PAGE.        9 

CHAPTER  H. 

The  Lovers •     '3 

CHAPTER  HI. 

Feelings ^7 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Maid  of  Malincs 20 

CHAPTER  V. 

Rotterdam.— The  character  of  the  Dutch. — Their  resemblance  to 
the  Germans.— A  dispute  between  Vane  and  Trevylyan,  after  the 
manner  of  the  ancient  novelists,  as  to  which  is  preferable,  the  life 
of  action  or  the  life  of  repose. — Trevylyan's  contrast  between  lit- 
erary ambition  and  the  ambition  of  public  life 46 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Gorcum. — The  Tour  of  the  Virtues:  a  Philosopner's  Tale.      .        .     53 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Cologne. — The  traces  of  the  Roman  Yoke. — The  Church  of  St. 
Maria. — Trevylyan's  reflections  on  the  Monastic  Life. — The 
Tomb  of  the  three  Kings. — An  Evening  Excursion  on  the  Rhine.      63 

CHAPTER  VIH. 
The  Soul  in  Purgatory  ;  or  Love  stronger  than  Death.         .         .        •66 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  scenery  of  the  Rhine  analogous  to  'he  German  literary  genius. 
— The  Drachenfels 6g 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Legend  of  Roland. — The  Adventures  of  Nymphalin  on  the  Is- 
land of  Nonnewerth. — Her  Song. — The  Decay  of  the  Fairy-faith 
in  England 71 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Wherein  the  Reader  is  made  spectator  with  the  English  Fairies  of 
the  Scenes  and  Beings  that  are  beneath  the  Earth.         .         .         .76 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Wooing  of  Master  Fox .  '79 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Tomb  of  a  Father  of  many  Children.  ....  100 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Fairy's  Cave,  and  the  Fairy's  Wish. loi 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Banks  cf  the  Rhine. — From  the  Drachenfels  to  Brohl ;  an  inci- 
dent that  suffices  in  this  Tale  for  an  Epoch.  .         .         •         .  102 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Gertrude. — The  Excursion  to  Hammerstein. — Thoughts.  .        .1 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Letter  from  Trevylyan  to  *    *    *    *.       .        .        .  .        .10 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Coblentz. — Excursion  to  the  Mountains  of  Taunus ;  Roman  Tower 
in  the  Valley  of  Ehrenbreitstein, — Travel,  its  pleasures  estimated 
differently  by  the  young  and  the  old. — The  Student  of  Heidel- 
berg; his  Criticisms  on  German  literature.  .         .         .         .110 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Fallen  Star  :  or,  the  history  of  a  false  Religion.        ,        .  113 


CONTENTS.  » 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Gelnhauscn.— The  power  of  Love  in  sanctified  places.— A  portrait 
of  Frederick  Barbarossa.— Tire  ambition  of  men  finds  no  adequate 
sympathy  in  women 14^ 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

View  of  Ehrenbreitstein. — A  new  alarm  in  Gertrude's  health. — Trar- 
bach.       .         .         .         •         .         .         •         •  ■        •         •M^ 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Double  Life.— Trevylyan's  fate.— Sorrow  the  Parent  of  Fame. 
— Niederlahnstein. — Dreams. 146 

CHAPTER  XXIIL 
The  Life  of  Dreams 149 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Brothers ^53 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

The    Immortality  of  the  Soul. — A  Common  Incident  not  before  de- 
scribed.— Trevylyan  and  Gertrude I7S 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

In  which  the  Reader  will  learn  how  the  Fairies  were  received  by 
the  Sovereigns  of  the  Mines. — The  complaint  of  the  last  of  the 
Fauns. — The  Red  Huntsman. — The  Storm. — Death.     .         .         .  178 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Tlmrmberg. — A  storm  upon  the  Rhine. — The  Ruins  of  Rheinfels. — 
Peril  unfelt  by  love. — The  echo  of  the  Lurlei-berg. — St.  Goar. — 
Caub,  Gutenfels,  and  Pfalzgrafenstein. — A  certain  vastness  of 
mind  in  the  first  Hermits. — The  scenery  of  tire  Rhine  to  Bachrach.  185 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

The  voyage  to  Bingen. — The  simple  incidents  in  this  tale  excusea. 
— The  situation  and  character  of  Gertrude. — The  conversation  of 
the  lovers  in  the  Temple. — A  fact  contradicted. — Thoughts  occa- 
sioned by  a  Madhouse  amongst  the  most  beautiful  Landscapes  of 
the  Rhine 188 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Ellfeld. — Mayence. — Heidelberg. — A  Conversation  between  Vane 
and  the  German  Student. — The  Ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Heidelberg 
and  its  solitary  Habitant 194 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

No  part  of  the  Earth  really  solitary. — The  Song  of  the  Fairies. — 
The  sacred  spot. — The  Witch  of  the  Evil  Winds. — The  Spell  and 
the  Duty  of  the  Fairies. 199 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Gertrude  and  Trevylyan,  when  the  former  is  awakened  to  the  ap- 
proach of  Death, 201 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  Spot  to  be  buried  in ....  204 

CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

The  Conclusion  of  this  Tale 205 


Poem  on  the  Ideal  World.       ...  •       ,       .  213 


TO 

HENRY  LYTTON  BULWER. 


Allow  me,  my  clear  Erothcr,  to  dedicate  this  Work  to 
you.  The  greater  part  of  it  (viz.,  the  tales  which  vary  and 
relie\-e  the  voyages  of  Gertrude  and  Trevylyan)  was  written 
in  (he  pleasant  excursion  we  made  together  some  years  ago. 
Among  the  associations — some  sad,  and  some  pleasing — con- 
nected with  the  general  design,  none  are  so  agreeable  to  me 
as  those  that  remind  me  of  the  friendship  subsisting  between 
us,  and  which,  unlike  that  of  near  relations  in  general,  has 
grown  stronger  and  more  intimate  as  our  footsteps  have  re- 
ceded farther  from  the  fields  where  we  played  together  in 
our  childhood.  I  dedicate  this  Work  to  you  with  the  more 
pleasure,  not  only  when  I  remember  that  it  has  always  been 
a  favorite  with  yourself,  but  when  I  think  that  it  is  one  of  my 
writings  most  liked  in  foreign  countries  ;  and  I  may  possibly, 
therefore,  have  found  a  record  destined  to  endure  the  afifec- 
tionate  esteem  which  this  Dedication  is  intended  to  convey. 

Yours,  &c. 

E.  L,.  B. 
I.oxro>f. 

W////23,  1S40. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO 

THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


Could  I  prescribe  to  the  critic  and  to  the  public,  I  would 
wish  that  this  work  might  be  tried  by  the  rules  rather  of  poetry 
than  prose,  for  according  to  those  rules  have  been  both  its 
conception  and  its  execution  ; — and  I  feel  that  something  of 
sympathy  with  the  author's  design  is  requisite  to  win_  indul- 
o-ence  for  the  superstitions  he  has  incorporated  with  his  tale  ; 
for  the  floridity  of  his  style  and  the  redundance  of  his  de 
scriptions.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  would  be  impossible,  in  at- 
tempting to  paint  the  scenery  and  embody  some  of  the  Le- 
gends of  the  Rhine,  not  to  give  (it  may  be,  too  loosely)  the 
reins  to  the  imagination,  or  to  escape  the  influence  of  that 
wild  German  spirit,  which  I  have  sought  to  transfer  to  a 
colder  tongue. 

I  have  made   the   experiment  of   selecting   for  the   mam 
interest  of  my  work  the  simplest  materials,  and  weaving  upon 
them  the  ornaments  given  chiefly  to  subjects  of  a  more  fanci- 
ful nature.     I  know  not  how  far  I  have  succeeded,  but  vari- 
ous reasons  have  conspired  to    make  this  the  work,  above  all 
otliers  that  I  have  written,  which  has  given  me  the  most  de- 
light  (though  not  unmixed  with  melancholy)    in  producing, 
and  in  which  my  mind,  for  the  time,  has  been  the  most  com- 
pletely absorbed.     But  the  ardor  of  composition  is  often  dis- 
propoVtioned   to   the   merit   of    the   work ;  and    the   public 
sometimes,  not  unjustly,  avenges  itself  for  that  forgetfulness 
of  its  existence,  which  makes  the  chief  charm  of  an  author's 
solitude  ;  and  the  happiest,  if  not  the  wisest,  inspiration  of 
his  dreams. 


P  R  E  F  AC  E 

TO 

PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 


With  the  younger  class  of  my  readers,  this  work  has  had 
the  good  fortune  to  find  especial  favor  ;  perhaps  because  it 
is  in  itself  a  collection  of  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  that 
constitute  the  Romance  of  youth.  It  has  little  to  do  with  the 
positive  truths  of  our  actual  life,  and  does  not  pretend  to 
deal  with  the  larger  passions  and  more  stirring  interests  of 
our  kind.  It  is  but  an  episode  out  of  the  graver  epic  of  hu- 
man destinies.  It  requires  no  explanation  of  its  purpose, 
and  no  analysis  of  its  story ;  the  one  is  evident,  the  other 
simple  : — the  first  seeks  but  to  illustrate  visible  nature 
through  the  poetry  of  the  affections  ;  the  other  is  but  the 
narrative  of  the  most  real  of  mortal  sorrows  which  the  Au- 
thor attempts  to  take  out  of  the  region  of  pain,  by  various 
accessories  from  the  Ideal.  The  connecting  tale  itself  is  but 
the  string  that  binds  into  a  garland  the  wild  flowers  cast 
upon  a  grave. 

The  descriptions  of  the  Rhine  have  been  considered  by 
Germans  sufficiently  faithful  to  render  this  tribute  to  theii 
land  and  their  legends  one  of  the  popular  guide-books  along 
the  course  it  illustrates  ;  especially  to  such  tourists  as  wish 
not  only  to  take  in  with  the  eye  the  inventory  of  the  river, 
but  to  seize  the  peculiar  spirit  which  invests  the  wave  and  the 
bank  with  a  beauty  that  can  only  be  made  visible  by  reflex- 
ion. He  little  comprehends  the  true  charm  of  the  Rhine, 
who  gazes  on  the  vines  on  the  hill-tops  without  a  thought  of 
the  imaginary  world  with  which  their  recesses  have  been 


8  PREFACE. 

peopled  by  the  graceful  credulity  of  old  ;  who  surveys  the 
steep  ruins  that  overshadow  the  water,  untouched  by  one 
lesson  from  the  pensive  morality  of  Time.  Everywhere 
around  us  is  the  evidence  of  perished  opinions  and  departed 
races — every\vhere  around  us,  also,  the  rejoicing  fertility  of 
unconquerable  Nature,  and  the  calm  progress  of  Man  himself 
through  the  infinite  cycles  of  decay.  He  who  would  judge 
adequately  of  a  landscape,  must  regard  it  not  only  with  the 
painter's  eye,  but  with  the  poet's.  The  feelings  which  the 
sight  of  any  scene  in  nature  conveys  to  the  mind — more^  es- 
pecially of  any  scene  on  which  history  or  fiction  has  left  its 
trace — must  depend  upon  our  sympathy  with  those  associa- 
tions which  make  up  what  may  be  called  the  spiritual  char- 
acter of  the  spot.  If  indifferent  to  those  associations,  we 
should  see  o-nly  hedgerows  and  ploughed  land  in  the  battle- 
field of  Bannockburn  ;  and  the  traveller  would  but  look  on  a 
dreary  waste,  whether  he  stood  amidst  the  piles  of  the  Druid, 
on  Salisbury  plain,  or  trod  his  bewildered  way  over  the 
broad  expanse  on  which  the  Chaldean  first  learned  to  number 
the  stars. 

£.  B.  Lf. 


THE 
PILGRIMS   OF   THE    RHINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  which  the  reader  is  introduced  to  Queen  Nymphalin. 

In  one  of  those  green  woods  which  belong  so  peculiarly 
to  our  island  (  for  the  continent  has  its  forests,  but  England, 
its  woods),  there  lived,  a  short  time  ago,  a  charming  little 
fairy  called  Nymphalin.  I  believe  she  is  descended  from  a 
younger  branch  of  the  house  of  Mab,  but  perhaps  that  may 
only  be  a  genealogical  fable,  for  your  fairies  are  very  sus- 
ceptible to  the  pride  of  ancestry,  and  it  is  impossible  to  deny 
that  they  fall  somewhat  reluctantly  into  the  liberal  opinions 
so  much  in  vogue  at  the  present  day. 

However  that  may  be,  it  is  quite  certain  that  all  the 
courtiers  in  Nymphalin's  domain  (  for  she  was  a  queen  fairy) 
made  a  point  of  asserting  her  right  to  this  illustrious  descent ; 
and,  accordingly,  she  quartered  the  Mab  arms  with  her  own 
— three  acorns  vert,  with  a  grasshopper  rampant.  It  was  as 
merry  a  little  court  as  could  possibly  be  conceived,  and  on  a 
fine  midsummer  night  it  would  have  been  worth  while  attend- 
ing the  queen's  balls — that  is  to  say,  if  you  could  have  got  a 
ticket ;  a  favor  not  obtained  without  great  interest. 

But,  unhappily,  until  both  men  and  fairies  adopt  Mr. 
Owen's  proposition,  and  live  in  parallelograms,  they  will 
always  be  the  victims  of  ennui.  And  Nymphalin,  who  had 
been  disappointed  in  love,  and  was  still  unmarried,  had  for 


lO  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  last  five  or  six  months  been  exceedingly  tired  even  of 
giving  balls.  She  yawned  very  frequently,  and  consequently 
yawning  became  a  fashion. 

"  But  why  don't  we  have  some  new  dances,  my  Pipalee  ?  " 
said  Nymphalin  to  her  favorite  maid  of  honor ;  "  These 
waltzes  are  very  old-fashioned." 

"  Very  old-fashioned,"  said  Pipalee. 

The  queen  gaped,  and  Pipalee  did  the  same. 

It  was  a  gala  night ;  the  court  was  held  in  a  lone  and 
beautiful  hollow,  with  the  wild  brake  closing  round  it  on 
every  side,  so  that  no  human  step  could  easily  gain  the  spot. 
Wherever  the  shadows  fell  upon  the  brake,  a  glow-worm 
made  a  point  of  exhibiting  itself,  and  the  bright  August 
moon  sailed  slowly  above,  pleased  to  look  down  upon  so 
charming  a  scene  of  merriment ;  for  they  wrong  the  moon 
who  assert  that  she  has  an  objection  to  mirth — with  the 
mirth  of  fairies  she  has  all  possible  sympathy.  Here  and 
there  in  the  thicket,  the  scarce  honeysuckles — in  August, 
honeysuckles  are  somewhat  out  of  season — hung  their  rich 
festoons,  and  at  that  moment  they  were  crowded  with  the 
elderly  fairies,  who  had  given  up  dancing  and  taken  to 
scandal.  Beside  the  honeysuckle  you  might  see  the  hawk- 
w-eed  and  the  white  convolvulus,  varying  the  soft  verdure  of 
the  thicket ;  and  mushrooms  in  abundance  had  sprung  up  in 
the  circle,  glittering  in  the  silver  moonlight,  acceptable 
beyond  measure  to  the  dancers  :  every  one  knows  how 
agreeable  a  thing  tents  are  in  ■Afetediampdre  ?  I  was  mis- 
taken in  saying  that  the  brake  closed  the  circle  entirely  round  : 
for  there  was  one  gap,  scarcely  apparent  to  mortals,  through 
which  a  fairy  at  least  might  catch  a  view  of  a  brook  that  was 
•close  at  hand,  rippling  in  the  stars,  and  chequered  at  in- 
tervals by  the  rich  weed,  floating  on  the  surface,  interspersed 
with  the  delicate  arrowhead  and  the  silver  water-lily.  Then 
the  trees  themselves,  in  their  prodigal  variety  of  hues  ;  the 
blue,  the  purple^  the  yellowing  tint — the  tender  and  silvery 
verdure,  and  the  deep  mass  of  shade  frowning  into  black  ; 
the  willow,  the  elm,  the  ash,  the  fir,  the  lime,  "  and,  best  of  all. 
Old  England's  haunted  oak  :  "  these  hues  were  broken  again 
into  a  thousand  minor  and  subtler  shades,  as  the  twinkling 
stars  pierced  the  foliage,  or  the  moon  slept  with  a  richer 
light  upon  some  favored  glade. 

It  was  a  gala  night ;  the  elderly  fairies,  as  I  said  before, 
were  chatting  among  the  honeysuckles ;  the  young  were 
flirting,  and   dancing,    and    making  love  ;    the  middle-aged 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  u 

talked  politics  under  the  mushrooms  •  and  the  queen  herself, 
and  half-a-dozen  of  her  favorites,  were  yawning  their  pleasure 
from  a  little  mound,  covered  with  the  thickest  moss. 

"  It   has   been   very  dull,    madam,   ever    since     Prince 
Fayzenheiin  left  us,"  said  the  fairy  Nip. 

The  queen  sighed. 

"  How  handsome  the  prince  is  !  "  said  Pipalee. 

The  queen  blushed. 

"  He  wore  the  prettiest  dress  in  the  world  ;  and  what  a 
mustache!"  cried  Pipalee,  fanning  herself  with  her  left 
wing. 

"  He  was  a  coxcomb,"  said  the  lord  treasurer,  sourly. 
The  lord  treasurer  was  the  honestest  and  most  disagreeable 
fairy  at  court ;  he  was  an  admirable  husband,  brother,  son, 
cousin,  uncle,  and  godfather  ;  it  was  these  virtues  that  had 
made  him  a  lord  treasurer.  Unfortunately  they  had  not  made 
him  a  sensible  fairy.  He  was  like  Charles  the  Second  in  one 
respect,  for  he  never  did  a  wise  thing  ;  but  he  was  not  like 
him  in  another — for  he  very  often  said  a  foolish  one. 

The  queen  frowned. 

"  A  young  prince  is  not  the  worse  for  that,"  retorted 
Pipalee.  "  Hcigho  !  does  your  majesty  think  his  highness 
likely  to  return. 

"  Don't  tease  me,"  said  Nymphalin,  pettishly. 

The  lord  treasurer,  by  way  of  giving  the  conversation  an 
agreeable  turn,  reminded  her  majesty  that  there  was  a 
prodigious  accumulation  of  business  to  see  to,  especially  that 
difficult  affair  about  the  emmet-wasp  loan.  Her  majesty 
rose,  and  leaning  on  Pipalee's  arm,  walked  down  to  the 
supper-tent. 

"  Pray,"  said  the  fairy  Trip  to  the  fairy  Nip,  "  what  is  all 
this  talk  about  Prince  Fayzenheim  }  Excuse  my  ignorance  ; 
I  am  only  just  out,  you  know." 

"  Why,"  answered  Nip,  a  young  courtier,  not  a  marrying 
fairy,  but  very  seductive,  "  the  story  runs  thus  :  — Last  sum- 
mer a  foreigner  visited  us,  calling  himself  Prince  Fayzen- 
heim :  one  of  your  German  fairies,  I  fancy  ;  no  great  things, 
but  an  excellent  waltzer.  He  wore  long  spurs,  made  out  of 
the  stings  of  the  horse-flies  in  the  Black  Forest ;  his  cap  sat  on 
one  side,  and  his  mustachios  curled  like  the  lip  of  the  dragon 
flower.  He  was  on  his  travels,  and  amused  himself  by  mak- 
.ng  love  to  the  queen.  You  can't  fancy,  dear  Trip,  how  fond 
she  was  of  hearing  him  tell  stories  about  the  strange  crea- 
tures of  Germany — about  wild-huntsmen,  water-sprites,  and  a 


12  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

pack  of  such  stuff,"  added  Nip,  contemptuously,  for  Nip  was 
a  free-tliinker. 

"  In  sliort  ?  "  said  Trip. 

"  In  short,  she  loved,"  cried  Nip,  with  a  theatrical  air. 

*'  And  the  prince  ?  " 

"  Packed  up  his  clothes,  and  sent  on  lis  travelling-car- 
riage, in  order  that  he  might  go  at  his  ease  on  the  top  of  a 
stage-pigeon  ;  in  short — as  you  say — in  short,  he  deserted 
the  queen,  and  ever  since  she  has  set  the  fashion  of  yawn- 

"  It  was  very  naughty  in  him,"  said  the  gentle  Trip. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  creature,"  cried  Nip,  "  if  it  had  been  you 
to  whom  he  had  paid  his  addresses  !  " 

Trip  simpered,  and  the  oM  fairies  from  their  seats  in  the 
honeysuckles  observed  she  was  "  sadly  conducted  ;  "  but  the 
Trips  had  never  been  too  respectable. 

Meanwhile  the  queen,  leaning  on  Pipalee,  said,  after  a 
short  pause,  "  Do  you  know  I  have  formed  a  plan  ?  " 

"  How  delightful !  "  cried  Pipalee.     "  Another  gala  !  " 

"  Pooh,  surely  even  you  must  be  tired  with  such  levities  : 
the  spirit  of  the  age  is  no  longer  frivolous  ;  and  I  daresay 
as  the  march  of  gravity  proceeds,  we  shall  get  rid  of  galas 
altogether."  The  queen  said  this  with  an  air  of  inconceiv- 
able wisdom,  for  the  "  Societ}'  for  the  Diffusion  of  General 
Stupefaction "  had  been  recently  established  among  the 
fairies,  and  its  tracts  had  driven  all  the  light  reading  out  of 
the  market.  "  The  Penny  Proser"  had  contributed  greatly 
to  the  increase  of  knowledge  and  yawning,  so  visibly  progress- 
ive among  the  courtiers. 

"  No,  "  continued  Nymphalin  ;  "  I  have  thought  of  some- 
thing better  than  galas — Let  us  travel  !  " 

Pipalee  clasped  her  hand  in  ecstasy. 

'■'  Where  shall  we  travel .-'" 

"  Let  us  go  up  the  Rhine,"  said  the  queen,  turning  away 
iier  head.  "  We  shall  be  amazingly  welcomed  ;  there  are 
fairies  without  number,  all  the  way  by  its  banks  ;  and  various 
distant  connections  of  ours,  whose  nature  and  properties  will 
afford  interest  and  instruction  to  a  philosophical  mind." 

*'  Number  Nip,  for  instance,"  cried  the  gay  Pipalee. 

"  The  Red  Man  !"  said  the  graver  Nymphalin. 

"  O,  my  queen,  what  an  excellent  scheme  1  "  and  Pipalee 
was  so  lively  during  the  rest  of  the  night,  that  the  old  fairies 
in  the  honeysuckle  insinuated  that  the  lady  of  honor  had 
drunk  a  buttercup  too  much  of  the  Maydew. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  13 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE  LOVERS. 

I  WISH  only  for  such  readers  as  give  themselves  heart 
and  soul  up  to  me — if  they  begin  to  cavil,  I  have  done  with 
them  ;  their  fancy  should  put  itself  entirely  under  my  man- 
agement ;  and,  after  all,  ought  they  not  to  be  too  glad  to  get 
out  of  this  hackneyed  and  melancholy  world,  to  be  run  awgy 
with  by  an  author  who  promises  them  something  new  ? 

From  the  heights  of  Bruges,  a  Mortal  and  his  betrothed 
gazed  upon  the  scene  below.  They  saw  the  sun  set  slowly 
amongst  purple  masses  of  cloud,  and  the  lover  turned  to  his 
mistress  and  sighed  deeply  ;  for  her  cheek  was  delicate  in 
its  blended  roses,  beyond  the  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  hues 
of  health  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  sun  sinking  from  the  world, 
the  thought  came  upon  him  that  she  was  his  sun,  and  the 
glory  that  she  shed  over  his  life  might  soon  pass  away  into 
the  bosom  of  the  "ever-during  Dark."  But  against  the 
clouds,  rose  one  of  the  many  spires  that  characterize  the  town 
of  Bruges  ;  and  on  that  spire,  tapering  into  heaven,  rested 
the  eyes  of  Gertrude  Vane.  The  different  objects  that 
caught  the  gaze  of  each  was  emblematic  both  of  the  different 
channel  of  their  thoughts,  and  the  different  elements  of  their 
nature  :  he  thought  of  the  sorrow,  she  of  the  consolation  :  his 
heart  prophesied  of  the  passing  away  from  earth — hers  of  the 
ascension  into  heaven.  The  lower  part  of  the  landscape  was 
wrapt  in  shade  ;  but,  just  where  the  bank  curved  round  in  a 
mimic  bay,  the  water  caught  the  sun's  parting  smile,  and  rii> 
pled  against  the  herbage  that  clothed  the  shore,  with  a  scarce- 
ly noticeable  wave.  There  were  two  of  the  numerous  mills 
which  are  so  picturesque  a  feature  of  that  country,  standing 
at  a  distance  from  each  other  on  the  rising  banks,  their  sails 
perfectly  still  in  the  cool  silence  of  the  evening,  and  adding 
to  the  rustic  tranquillity  which  breathed  around.  For  to  me 
there  is  something  in  the  stilled  sails  of  one  of  those  inven- 
tions of  man's  industry  peculiarly  eloquent  of  repose  :  the 
rest  seems  typical  of  the  repose  of  our  own  passions — short 
and  uncertain,  contrary  to  their  natural  ordination ;  and 
doubly  impressive  from  the  feeling  which  admonishes  us  how 


H 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


precarious  is  the  stillness — how  utterly  dependent  on  every 
wind  rising  at  any  moment  and  from  any  quarter  of  the 
heavens  !  They  saw  before  them  no  living  forms,  save  of  one 
or  two  peasants  yet  lingering  by  the  water-side. 

Trevylyan  drew  closer  to  his  Gertrude  ;  for  his  love  was 
inexpressibly  tender,  and  his  vigilant  anxiety  for  her  made 
his  stern  frame  feel  the  first  coolness  of  the  evening,  even 
before  she  felt  it  herself. 

"  Dearest,  let  me  draw  your  mantle  closer  round  you," 

Gertrude  smiled  her  thanks. 

"  I  feel  better  than  I  have  done  for  weeks,"  said  she  \ 
"  and  when  once  we  get  into  the  Rhine,  you  v/ill  see  me  grow 
so  strong  as  to  shock  all  your  initerest  for  me." 

"  Ah,  would  to  Heaven  my  interest  for  you  may  be  put  to 
such  an  ordeal !  "  said  Trevylyan  ;  and  they  turned  slowly  to 
fhe  inn,  where  Gertrude's  father  already  awaited  them. 

Trevylyan  was  of  a  wild,  a  resolute,  and  an  active  nature. 
Thrown  on  the  world  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  had  passed  his 
youth  in  alternate  pleasure,  travel,  and  solitary  study.  At  the 
age  in  which  manhood  is  least  susceptible  to  caprice,  and  most 
perhaps  to  passion,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  loveliest  person 
that  ever  dawned  upon  a  poet's  vision.  I  say  this  without 
exaggeration,  for  Gertrude  Vane's  was  indeed  the  beauty,  but 
the  perishable  beauty,  of  a  dream.  It  happened  most  singu- 
larly to  Trevylyan,  (but  he  was  a  smgular  man)  that  being 
naturally  one  whose  affections  it  was  very  difficult  to  excite, 
he  should  have  fallen  in  love  at  first  sight  with  ajoerson  whose 
disease,  already  declared,  would  have  deterred  any  other 
heart  from  risking  its  treasures  in  a  bark  so  utterly  unfitted 
for  the  voyage  of  life.  Consumption,  but  consumption  in  its 
most  beautiful  shape,  had  set  its  seal  upon  Gertrude  Vane, 
when  Trevylyan  first  saw  her,  and  at  once  loved.  He  knew 
the  danger  of  the  disease  ;  he  did  not,  except  at  intervals  de- 
ceive himself ;  he  wrestled  against  the  new  passion  ;  but, 
stern  as  his  nature  was,  he  could  not  conquer  it.  He  loved, 
he  confessed  his  love,  and  Gertrude  returned  it. 

In  a  love  like  this  there  is  something  ineffably  beautiful — 
it  is  essentially  the  poetry  of  passion.  Desire  grows  hallowed 
by  fear,  and,  scarce  permitted  to  indulge  its  vent  in  the  com- 
mon channel  of  the  senses,  breaks  forth  into  those  vague 
yearnings — those  holy  aspirations,  which  pine  for  the  Bright, 
the  Far,  the  Unattained.  It  is  "  the  desire  of  the  moth  for 
the  star" — it  is  the  love  of  the  soul ! 

Gertrude  was  advised   by  the  Faculty  to  try  a  southern 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


15 


climate  ;  l^ut  Gertrude  was  the  daughter  of  a  German  mother, 
and  her  young  fancy  had  been  nursed  in  all  the  wild  legends 
and  the  alluring  visions  that  belong  to  the  children  of  the 
Rhine.  Her  imagination,  more  romantic  than  classic,  yearned 
for  the  vineclad  hills,  and  haunted  forests,  which  are  so  fertile 
in  their  spells  to  those  who  have  once  drunk,  even  sparingly 
of  the  Literature  of  the  North.  Her  desire  strongly  ex- 
pressed lier  declared  conviction,  that  if  any  change  of  scene 
could  yet  arrest  the  progress  of  her  malady,  it  would  be  the 
shores  of  the  river  she  had  so  longed  to  visit,  prevailed  with 
her  physicians  and  her  father,  and  they  consented  to  that 
pilgrimage  along  the  Rhine  on  which  Gertrude,  her  father, 
and  her  lover  were  now  bound. 

It  was  by  the  green  curve  of  the  banks  which  the  lovers 
saw  from  the  heights  of  Bruges,  that  our  fairy  travellers  met. 
They  were  reclining  on  the  waterside,  playing  at  dominoes 
with  eyebright  and  the  black  specks  of  the  trefoil ;  viz. 
Pipalee,  Nip,  Trip,  and  the  lord  treasurer  (for  that  was  all 
the  party  selected  by  the  queen  for  her  travelling  corfege, 
and  waiting  for  her  majesty,  who,  being  a  curious  little 
elf,  had  gone  round  the  town  to  reconnoitre. 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  the  lord  treasurer ;  "  what  a  mad 
freak  is  this  !  Crossing  that  immense  pond  of  water  !  And 
was  there  ever  such  bad  grass  as  this  ?  One  may  see  that 
the  fairies  thrive  ill  here." 

"  You  are  always  discontented,  my  lord,"  said  Pipalee  ; 
"  but  then  you  are  somewhat  too  old  to  travel — at  least,  un- 
less you  go  in  your  nutshell  and  four." 

The  lord  treasurer  did  not  like  this  remark,  so  he  mut- 
tered a  peevish  pshaw,  and  took  a  pinch  of  honeysuckle  dust 
to  console  himself  for  being  forced  to  put  up  with  so  much 
frivolity. 

At  this  moment,  ere  the  moon  was  yet  at  her  middest 
height,  Nymphalin  joined  her  subjects. 

"  i  ha\'e  just  returned,"  said  she,  with  a  melancholy  ex 
l^ression  on  her  countenance,  "  from  a  scene  that  has  almost 
renewed  in  me  that  sympathy  with  human  beings  which  ot 
late  years  our  race  has  wellnigh  relinquished. 

"  I  hurried  through  the  town  without  noticing  much  food 
for  adventure.  I  paused  for  a  moment  on  a  fat  citizen's  pil- 
low, and  bade  him  dream  of  love.  He  woke  in  a  fright,  and 
ran  down  to  see  that  his  cheeses  were  safe.  I  swept  with  a 
Hght  wing  over  a  politician's  eyes,  and  straightway  he  dreamed 
of  theatres  and  music.     I  caught  an  undertaker  in  his  first 


1 6  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

nap,  and  I  left  him  whirled  into  a  waltz.  For  what  would 
be  sleep  if  it  did  not  contrast  life  ?  Then  I  came  to  a  soli- 
tary chamber,  in  which  a  girl,  in  her  tenderest  youth,  knelt  by 
the  bedside  in  prayer,  and  I  saw  that  the  death-spirit  had 
passed  over  her,  and  the  blight  was  on  the  leaves  of  the  rose. 
The  room  was  still  and  hushed — the  angel  of  Purity  kept 
watch  there.  Her  heart  was  full  of  love,  and  3-et  of  holy 
thoughts,  and  I  bade  her  dream  of  the  long  life  denied  her— 
of  a  happy  home — of  the  kisses  of  her  young  lover — of  eter- 
nal faith,  and  unwaning  tenderness.  Let  her  at  least  enjoy 
in  dreams  what  Fate  has  refused  to  Truth  ! — and  passing 
from  the  room,  I  found  her  lover  stretched  in  his  cloak  beside 
the  door  ;  for  he  reads  with  a  feverish  and  desperate  prophesy 
the  doom  that  waits  her;  and  so  loves  he  the  very  air  she 
breathes,  the  very  ground  she  treads,  and  when  she  has  left 
his  sight  he  creeps  silently  and  unknown  to  her,  to  the  near- 
est spot  hallowed  by  her  presence,  anxious  that  while  yet  she 
is  on  earth  not  an  hour,  not  a  moment,  should  be  wasted  upon 
other  thoughts  than  those  that  belong  to  her  ;  and  feeling  a 
security,  a  fearful  joy,  in  lessening  the  distance  that  now 
only  momentarily  divides  them.  And  that  love  seemed  to  me 
not  as  the  love  of  the  common  world,  and  I  stayed  my  wings 
and  looked  upon  it  as  a  thing  that  centuries  might  pass,  and 
bring  no  parallel  to,  in  its  beauty  and  its  melancholy  truth. 
But  I  kept  away  the  sleep  from  the  lovers'  eyes,  for  well  I 
knew  that  sleep  was  a  tyrant,  that  shortened  the  brief  time 
of  waking  tenderness  for  the  living,  yet  spared  him  ;  and  one 
sad,  anxious  thought  of  her  was  sweeter,  in  spite  of  its  sor- 
row, than  the  brightest  of  fairy  dreams.  So  I  left  him  awake, 
and  watching  there  through  the  long  night,  and  felt  that  the 
children  of  earth  have  still  something  that  unites  them  to 
the  spirits  of  a  finer  race,  so  long  as  they  retain  amongst 
them  the  presence  of  real  love  !  " 

And  oh  !  Is  there  not  a  truth  also  in  our  fictions  of  the 
Unseen  World.  Are  there  not  yet  bright  lingerers  by  the 
forest  and  the  stream  ?  Do  the  moon  and  the  soft  stars  look 
out  on  no  delicate  and  winged  forms  bathing  in  their  light  ? 
Are  the  fairies  and  the  invisible  hosts  but  the  children  of  our 
dreams  ;  and  not  their  inspiration  t  Is  that  all  a  delusion 
which  speaks  from  the  golden  page  1  And  is  the  world  only 
given  to  harsh  and  anxious  travellers,  that  walk  to  and  fro  in 
pursuit  of  no  gentle  shadows  ?  Are  the  chimeras  of  the  pas- 
sions the  sole  spirit  of  the  Universe  ?  No  !  while  my  remem- 
brance treasures  in  its  deepest  cell  the  image  of  one  no  more, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  i; 

— one  who  was  "  not  of  the  earth,  earthy," — one  in  whom  love 
was  the  essence  of  thoughts  divine — one  whose  shape  and 
mould,  whose  heart  and  genius,  would,  had  Poesy  never  be- 
fore have  dreamed  it,  have  called  forth  the  first  notions  of 
spirits,  resembling  mortals  but  not  of  them  ; — no,  Gertrude  ! 
while  I  remember  you,  the  faith,  the  trust  in  brighter  shapes 
and  fairer  natures  than  the  ♦.•orlcl  knows  of,  comes  clinging  to 
my  heart;  and  still  will  I  think  that  Fairies  might  have 
watched  over  your  sleep,  and  Spirits  have  ministered  to  your 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FEELINGS. 

Gertrude  and  her  companions  proceeded  by  slow,  and, 
to  her,  delightful  stages  to  Rotterdam.  Trevylyan  sat  by  her 
side,  and  her  hand  was  ever  in  his  ;  and  when  her  delicate 
frame  became  sensible  of  fatigue,  her  head  drooped  on  his 
shoulder  as  its  natural  resting-place.  Her  father  was  a  man 
who  had  lived  long  enough  to  have  encountered  many  rever- 
ses of  fortune,  and  they  had  left  him,  as  I  am  apt  to  believe 
long  adversity  usually  does  leave  its  prey,  somewhat  chilled 
and  somewhat  hardened  to  affection  ;  passive  and  quiet  of 
hope,  resigned  to  the  worst  as  to  the  common  order  of  events, 
and  expecting  little  from  the  best,  as  an  unlooked-for  incident 
in  the  regularity  of  human  afflictions.  He  was  insensible  of 
his  daughter's  danger,  for  he  was  not  one  whom  the  fear  of 
love  endows  with  prophetic  vision  ;  and  he  lived  tranquilly  in 
the  present,  without  asking  what  new  misfortune  awaited  him 
in  the  future.  Yet  he  loved  his  child,  his  only  child,  with 
whatever  of  affection  was  left  him  by  the  many  shocks  his 
heart  had  received  ;  and  in  her  approaching  connection  with 
one  rich  and  noble  as  Trevylyan,  he  felt  even  something  bor- 
dering upon  pleasure.  Lapped  in  the  apathetic  indifference 
of  his  nature,  he  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  enjoying  the 
bright  weather  that  attended  their  journey,  and  sensible — for 
he  was  one  of  fine  and  cultivated  taste — of  whatever  beauties 
of  nature  or  remains  of  art  varied  their  course.  A  companion 
of  this  sort  was  the  most  agreeable  that  two  persons  never  need 


1 8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

ing  a  third  listener,  could  desire ;  he  left  them  undisturbed  to 
the  intoxication  of  their  mutual  presence  ;  he  marked  not  the 
interchange  of  glances  ;  he  listened  not  to  the  whisper,  the  low 
delicious  whisper,  with  which  the  heart  speaks  its  sympathy 
to  heart.  He  broke  not  that  charmed  silence  which  falls  over 
us  when  the  thoughts  are  full,  and  words  leave  nothing  to 
explain  ;  that  repose  of  feeling  ;  that  certainty  that  we  are 
understood  without  the  effort  of  w-ords,  which  makes  the  real 
luxury  of  intercourse  and  the  true  enchantment  of  travel. 
What  a  memory  hours  like  these  bequeath,  after  we  have  set- 
tled down  into  the  calm  occupations  of  common  life  ! — how 
beautiful,  through  the  vista  of  years,  seems  that  brief  moon- 
light track  upon  the  waters  of  our  youth  ! 

And  Trevylyan's  nature,  which,  as  I  have  said  before,  was 
naturally  hard  and  stern  ;  which  was  hot,  irritable,  ambitious, 
and  prematurely  tinctured  with  the  policy  and  lessons  of  the 
world,  seemed  utterly  changed  by  the  peculiarities  of  his 
love  ;  every  hour,  every  moment,  was  full  of  incident  to  him  ; 
every  look  of  Gertrude's  was  entered  in  the  tablets  of  his 
heart,  so  that  his  love  knew  no  Ian;;  uor,  it  required  no  change  ; 
he  was  absorbed  in  it — it  was  himself !  And  he  was  soft  and 
watchful  as  the  step  of  a  mother  by  the  couch  of  her  sick 
child ;  the  lion  within  him  was  tamed  by  indomitable  love  ; 
the  sadness,  the  presentiment  that  was  mixed  with  all  his 
passion  for  (Gertrude,  filled  him  too  with  that  poetry  of  feeling 
which  is  the  result  of  thoughts  weighing  upon  us,  and  not  to 
be  expressed  by  ordinary  language.  In  this  part  of  their 
journey,  as  I  find  by  the  date,  were  the  following  lines  written  ; 
they  are  to  be  judged  as  the  lines  of  one  in  whom  emotion 
and  truth  were  the  only  inspiration — 

I. 

"  As  leaves  left  darkling  in  the  flusli  of  day, 

When  glints  the  glad  sun  chequering  o'er  the  tree. 
I  see  the  green  earth  brightening  in  the  ray, 
Which  only  casts  a  shadow  upon  nit ! 

II. 

^Vhat  arc  the  Ijcams,  the  flowers,  the  glory,  all 
IJfc's  glow  and  gloss — the  music  and  the  bloom, 

When  every  sun  but  speeds  the  Kletnal  Pall, 
And  Time  is  Death  that  dallies  with  the  Tomb  ? 

III. 

And  yet — oh  yet,  so  young,  so  pure  1 — the  while 

Fresh  laugh  the  rose-hues  round  youth's  morning  sky, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  19 

That  voice — those  eyes — the  deep  love  of  that  smile, 
Are  they  not  soul — all  soul — and  can  they  die  ? 

IV. 

Are  there  the  words,  'No  More  '  for  thoughts  like  our*  ? 

Must  the  bark  sink  upon  so  soft  a  wave  ? 
Hath  the  short  summer  of  thy  life  no  flowers, 

But  those  which  bloom  above  thine  early  grave  ? 

V. 

O  God  !  and  what  is  life,  that  I  should  live 

(Hath  not  the  world  enow  of  common  clay  ?)  ^ 

And  she — the  Rose — whose  life  a  soul  could  give 
To  the  void  desert,  sigh  its  sweets  away. 

VI. 

And  I  that  love  thee  thus,  to  whom  the  air, 

Blest  by  thy  breath,  makes  heaven  where'er  it  be, 

Watch  thy  cheek  wane,  and  smile  away  despair — 
Lest  it  should  dim  one  hour  yet  left  to  thee. 

VII. 

Still  let  me  conquer  self, — oh,  still  conceal 

By  the  smooth  brow  the  snake  tliat  coils  below  ; 

Break,  break  my  heart,  it  comforts  yet  to  feel 
That  she  dreams  on,  unwaken'd  by  my  woe  1 

Vllt. 

Hush'd,  where  the  Star's  soft  angel  loves  to  keep 
Watch  o'er  their  tide,  the  mourning  waters  roll ; 

So  glides  my  spirit — darkness  in  the  deep, 
But  o'er  the  wave  the  presence  of  thy  soul  I  " 

Gertrude  had  not  as  yet  the  presentiments  that  filled  the 
soul  of  Trev}'lyan.  She  thought  too  little  of  herself  to  know 
her  danger,  and  those  hours  to  her  were  hours  of  unmingled 
sweetness.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  exhaustion  of  her  disease 
tinged  her  spirits  with  a  vague  sadness,  an  abstraction  came 
over  her,  and  a  languor  she  vainly  struggled  against.  These 
fits  of  dejection  and  gloom  touched  Trevylyan  to  the  quick  , 
his  eye  never  ceased  to  watch  them,  nor  his  heart  to  soothe. 
Often  when  he  marked  them,  he  sought  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion from  what  he. fancied,  though  erringly,  a  sympathy  with  his 
own  forebodings,  and  to  lead  her  young  and  romantic  imagin- 
ation  through  the  temporary  beguilements  of  fiction     for 


20  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE 

Gertrude  was  yet  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  and  all  the  dews 
of  beautiful  childhood  sparkled  freshly  from  the  virgin  bios 
soms  of  her  mind.  And  Trevylvan,  who  had  passed  some  of 
his  early  years  among  the  students  of  Leipsic,  and  was  deeply 
versed  in  the  various  world  of  legendary  lore,  ransacked  his 
memory  for  such  tales  as  seemed  to  him  most  likely  to  win 
her  interest ;  and  often  with  false  smiles  entered  into  the 
playful  tale,  or  oftener,  with  more  faithful  interest,  into  the 
graver  legend  of  trials  that  warned  of,  yet  beguiled  them  from 
their  own.  Of  such  tales  I  have  selected  but  a  few ;  I  know 
not  that  they  are  the  least  unworthy  of  repetition  :  they  are 
those  which  many  recollections  induce  me  to  repeat  the  most 
willingly.  Gertrude  loved  these  stories,  for  she  had  not  yet 
lost,  by  the  coldness  of  the  world,  one  leaf  from  that  soft  and 
wild  romance  which  belonged  to  her  beautiful  mind.  And, 
more  than  all,  she  loved  the  sounds  of  a  voice  which  every 
day  became  more  and  more  musical  to  her  ear.  "  Shall  I  tell 
you,"  said  Trevylyan,  one  morning,  as  he  observed  her 
gloomier  mood  stealing  over  the  face  of  Gertrude,  "  shall  I 
tell  you,  ere  yet  we  pass  into  the  dull  land  of  Holland,  a 
story  of  Malines,  whose  spires  we  shall  shortly  see  ?  "  Ger- 
trude's face  brightened  at  once,  and,  as  she  leaned  back  in 
the  carriage  as  it  whirled  rapidly  along,  and  fixed  her  deep 
blue  eyes  on  Trevvlyan,  he  began  the  following  tale. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Maid  of  Malines. 


Ii  was  noonday  in  the  town  of  Malines,  or  Mechlin,  as 
the  English  usually  term  it ;  the  Sabbath  bell  had  summoned 
the  inhabitants  to  divine  worship  ;  and  the  crowd  that  had 
loitered  round  the  church  of  St.  Rembauld  had  gradually 
emptied  itself  within  the  spacious  aisles  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

A  young  man  was  standing  in  the  street,  with  his  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground,  and  apparently  listening  for  some  sound  ; 
for,  without  raising  his  looks  from  the  rude  pavement,  he 
turned  to  every  corner  of  it  with  an  intent  and  anxious  ex- 
pression of  countenance  ;  he  held  in  one  hand  a  staff,  in  the 
other  a  long  slender  cord,  the  end  of  which  trailed  on  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  ji 

ground  ;  every  now  and  then  he  called,  with  a  plaintive  voice, 
"  Fido,  Fido,  come  back  !  Why  hast  thou  deserted  me  ?  " 
Fido  returned  not ;  the  dog,  wearied  of  confinement,  had 
slipped  from  the  string,  and  was  at  play  with  his  kind  in  a  dis- 
tant quarter  of  the  town,  leaving  the  blind  man  to  seek  his  way 
as  he  might  to  his  solitary  inn. 

By  and  by  a  light  step  passed  through  the  street,  and  the 
young  stranger's  face  brightened. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  spot  where  his 
quick  ear  had  caught  the  sound,  "  and  direct  me,  if  you  are 
not  much  pressed  for  a  few  moments'  time,  to  the  hotel 
Mortier  d'  Orr 

It  was  a  young  woman  whose  dress  betokened  that  she 
belonged  to  the  middling  class  of  life,  whom  he  thus  addressed. 
"  It  is  some  distance  hence,  sir,"  said  she  ;  "but  if  you  con- 
tinue straight  on  for  about  a  hundred  yards,  and  then  take  the 
second  turn  to  your  right  hand " 

"  Alas  !  "  interrupted  the  stranger,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  your  direction  will  avail  me  little  ;  my  dog  has  de- 
serted me,  and  I  am  blind  !  " 

There  was  something  in  these  words  and  in  the  stranger's 
v^oice,  which  went  irresistibly  to  the  heart  of  the  young  woman. 
"  Pray,  forgive  me,"  she  said,  almost  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
*'  I  did  not  perceive  your — "  misfortune,  she  was  about  to  say 
but  she  checked  herself  with  an  instinctive  delicacy. — "  Lean 
upon  me,  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  door ;  nay,  sir,"  observing 
that  he  hesitated,  "  I  have  time  enough  to  spare,  I  assure 
you." 

The  stranger  placed  his  hand  on  the  young  woman's  arm, 
and  though  Lucille  was  naturally  so  bashful  that  even  her 
mother  would  laughingly  reproach  her  for  the  excess  of  a 
maiden  virtue,  she  felt  not  the  least  pang  of  shame  as  she 
found  herself  thus  suddenly  walking  through  the  streets  of 
Malines,  along  with  a  young  stranger,  whose  dress  and  air  be- 
tokened him  of  rank  superior  to  her  own. 

"  Your  voice  is  very  gentle,"  said  he,  after  a  pause  ;  "  and 
that,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  is  the  only  criteron  by  which  I 
know  the  young  and  the  beautiful  !  "  Lucille  now  blushed, 
and  with  a  slight  mixture  of  pain  in  the  blush,  for  she  knew 
well  that  to  beauty  she  had  no  pretension.  "Are  you  a 
native  of  this  town  ?  "  continued  he. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  my  father  holds  a  small  office  in  the  customs, 
and  my  mother  and  I  eke  out  his  salary  by  making  lace.  We 
are  called  poor,  but  we  do  not  feel  it  sir." 


22  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"  You  are  fortunate  ;  there  is  no  wealth  like  the  heart's 
wealth — content,"  answered  the  blind  man,  mournfully. 

"  And,  monsieur,"  said  Lucille,  feeling  angry  with  herseli 
that  she  had  awakened  a  natural  envy  in  the  stranger's  mind, 
and  anxious  to  change  the  subject — "  and,  monsieur,  has  he 
been  long  at  Malines  ?  " 

"  But  yesterday.  I  am  passing  through  the  Low  Coun 
tries  on  a  tour;  perhaps  you  smile  at  the  tour  of  a  blind  man 
— but  it  is  wearisome  even  to  the  blind  to  rest  always  in  the 
same  place.  I  thought  during  church-time,  when  the  streets 
v/ere  empt}^,  that  I  might,  by  the  help  of  my  dog,  enjoy  safely 
at  least  the  air,  if  not  the  sight  of  the  town  ;  but  there  are 
some  persons,  methinks,  m  ho  cannot  have  even  a  dog  for  a 
friend  ! " 

The  blind  man  spoke  bitterly  ;  the  desertion  of  his  dog 
had  touched  him  to  the  core.     Lucille  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  And  does  monsieur  travel  then  alone  ?  "  said  she ;  and 
looking  at  his  face  more  attentively  than  she  had  yet  ventured 
to  do,  she  saw  that  he  was  scarcely  above  two-and-twenty. 
"  His  fatlier,  his  mother,^''  she  added,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
last  word,  "  are  they  not  with  him." 

"  I  am  an  orphan  !  "  answered  the  stranger  ;  "  and  I  have 
neither  brother  nor  sister." 

The  desolate  condition  of  the  blind  man  quite  melted  Lu- 
cille ;  never  had  she  been  so  strongly  affected.  She  felt  a 
strange  flutter  at  the  heart — a  secret  and  earnest  sympathy 
that  attracted  her  at  once  towards  him.  She  wished  that 
Heaven  had  suffered  her  to  be  his  sister. 

The  contrast  between  the  youth  and  the  form  of  the  stran- 
ger, and  the  affliction  which  took  hope  from  the  one,  and  ac- 
tivity from  the  other,  increased  the  compassion  he  excited. 
His  features  were  remarkably  regular,  and  had  a  certain  no- 
bleness in  their  outline  ;  and  his  frame  was  gracefully  and 
fumly  knit,  though  he  moved  cautiously  and  with  no  cheerful 
step. 

They  had  now  passed  into  a  narrow  street  leading  towards 
the  hotel,  when  they  heard  behind  them  the  clatter  of  hoofs  ; 
and  Lucille,  looking  hastily  back,  saw  that  a  troop  of  the  Bel- 
gian horse  was  passing  through  the  town. 

She  drev,'  her  charge  by  the  wall,  and  trembling  with  fear 
for  him,  she  stationed  herself  by  his  side.  The  troop  passed 
at  a  full  trot  through  the  street :  and  at  the  sound  of  their 
clanging  arms,  and  the  ringing  hoofs  of  their  heavy  chargers, 
Lucille  might  have  seen,  had  she  looked  at  the  blind  man's 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KHhVE.  23 

face,  that  its  sad  features  kindled  with  enthusiasm,  and  his 
head  was  raised  proudly  from  its  wonted  and  melancholy 
bend. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  she  said,  as  the  troop  had  nearly 
passed  them,  "  the  danger  is  over  !  " 

Not  so.  One  of  the  last  two  soldiers  who  rode  abreast, 
was  unfortunately  mounted  on  a  young  and  unmanageable 
horse.  The  rider's  oaths  and  digging  spur  only  increased 
the  fire  and  impatience  of  the  charger ;  it  plunged  from  side 
to  side  of  the  narrow  street. 

"  Look  to  yourselves  ! "  cried  the  horseman,  as  he  was 
borne  on  to  the  place  where  Lucille  and  the  stranger  stood 
against  the  wall.     "  Are  ye  mad  ? — why  do  you  not  run  ?  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake — for  mercy's  sake,  he  is  blind  1  " 
cried  Lucille,  clinging  to  the  stranger's  side. 

"  Save  yourself,  my  kind  guide  !  "  said  the  stranger.  But 
Lucille  dreamed  not  of  such  desertion.  The  trooper  wrested 
ihe  horse's  head  from  the  spot  where  they  stood  :  with  a 
snort,  as  it  felt  the  spur,  the  enraged  animal  lashed  out  with 
its  hind  legs  ;  and  Lucille,  unable  to  save  both,  threw  herself 
before  the  blind  man,  and  received  the  shock  directed  against 
him  ;  her  slight  and  delicate  arm  fell  broken  by  her  side — 
the  horseman  was  borne  onward.  "  Thank  God,  you  are 
saved !  "  was  poor  Lucille's  exclamation  ;  and  she  fell,  over- 
come with  pain  and  terror,  into  the  arms  which  the  stranger 
mechanically  opened  to  receive  her. 

"  My  guide  !  my  friend  !  "    cried  he,  "  you  are  hurt,  you 

1) 

"  No,  sir,"  interrupted  Lucille,  faintingly,  "  I  am  better 
— I  am  well.  This  arm,  if  you  please — we  are  nut  far  from 
your  hotel  now." 

But  the  stranger's  ear,  tutored  to  every  inflection  of  voice, 
told  him  at  once  of  the  pain  she  suffered  ;  he  drew  from  her 
by  degrees  the  confession  of  the  injury  she  had  sustained ; 
but  the  generous  girl  did  not  tell  him  it  had  been  incurred 
solely  in  his  protection.  He  now  insisted  on  reversing  their 
duties,  and  accompanying  her  to  her  home  ;  and  Lucille,  al- 
most fainting  with  pain,  and  hardly  able  to  move,  was  forced 
to  consent.  But  a  few  steps  down  the  next  turning  stood  the 
humble  mansion  of  her  father.  They  reached  it :  and  Lucille 
scarcely  crossed  the  threshold,  before  she  sank  down,  and  for 
some  minutes  was  insensible  to  pain.  It  was  left  to  the  stran- 
ger to  explain,  and  to  beseech  them  immediately  to  send  for 
a  surgeon,  "  the  most  skilful — the  most  practised  in  the  town," 


24  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

said  he.  "  See,  T  am  rich,  and  this  is  the  least  I  can  do  to 
atone  to  your  genei'ous  daughter  for  not  forsaking  even  a 
stranger  in  peril." 

He  held  out  his  purse  as  he  spoke,  but  the  father  refused 
the  offer ;  and  it  saved  the  blind  man  some  shame,  that  he 
could  not  see  the  blush  of  honest  resentment  with  which  so 
poor  a  species  of  remuneration  was  put  aside. 

The  young  man  stayed  till  the  surgeon  arrived,  till  the 
arm  was  set ;  nor  did  he  depart  until  he  had  obtained  a  prom- 
ise from  the  mother  that  he  should  learn  the  next  morning 
how  the  sufferer  had  passed  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  indeed,  he  had  intended  to  quit  a 
town  that  offers  but  little  temptation  to  the  traveller ;  but  he 
:arried  day  after  day,  until  Lucille  herself  accompanied  her 
mother,  to  assure  him  of  her  recovery. 

You  know,  or  at  least  I  do,  dearest  Gertrude,  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  love  at  the  first  meeting — a  secret,  an  un- 
accountable affinity  between  persons  (strangers  before),  which 
draws  them  irresistibly  together.  As  if  there  were  truth  in 
Plato's  beautiful  phantasy,  that  our  souls  were  a  portion  of 
the  stars,  and  that  spirits,  thus  attracted  to  each  other,  have 
drawn  their  original  light  from  the  same  orb,  and  yearn  for 
a  renewal  of  their  former  union.  Yet,  without  recurring  to 
such  fanciful  solutions  of  a  daily  mystery,  it  was  but  natural 
that  one,  in  the  forlorn  and  desolate  condition  of  Eugene 
St.  Amand,  should  have  felt  a  certain  tenderness  for  a  person 
who  had  so  generously  suffered  for  his  sake. 

The  darkness  to  which  he  was  condemned  did  not  shut 
from  his  mind's  eye  the  haunting  image  of  ideal  beauty ; 
rather,  on  the  contrary,  in  his  perpetual  and  unoccupied  soli- 
tude, he  fed  the  reveries  of  an  imagination  naturally  warm, 
and  a  heart  eager  for  sympathy  and  commune. 

He  had  said  rightly  that  his  only  test  of  beauty  was  in 
the  melody  of  voice  ;  and  never  had  a  softer  or  a  more  thrill- 
ing tone  than  that  of  the  young  maiden  touched  upon  his  ear. 
Her  exclamation,  so  beautifully  denying  self,  so  devoted  in 
,ts  charity —  "  Thank  God,  you  are  saved  !  "  uttered  too  in 
the  moment  of  her  own  suffering,  rang  constantly  upon  his 
soul  and  he  yielded,  without  precisely  defining  their  nature, 
to  vague  and  delicious  sentiments,  that  his  youth  had  nevei 
awakened  to,  till  then.  And  Lucille — the  very  accident  thai 
had  happened  to  her  on  his  behalf,  only  deepened  the  in- 
terest she  had  already  conceived  for  one  who,  in  the  first 
flush  of  youth  was  thus  cut  off  from  the  glad  objects  of  life, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  25 

and  left  to  a  night  of  years  desolate  and  alone.  There  is,  to 
your  beautiful  and  kindly  sex,  a  natural  inclination  to  protect. 
This  makes  them  the  angels  of  sickness,  the  comforters  of 
age,  the  fosterers  of  childhood ;  and  this  feeling,  hi  Lucilie 
peculiarly  developed,  had  already  inexpressibly  linked  her 
compassionate  nature  to  the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  traveller. 
With  ardent  affections,  and  with  thoughts  beyond  her  station 
and  her  years,  she  was  not  without  that  modest  vanity  which 
made  her  painfully  susceptible  to  her  own  deficiencies  in 
beauty.  Instinctively  conscious  of  how  deeply  she  herself 
could'love,  she  believed  it  impossible  that  she  could  ever  be 
so  loved  in  return.  This  stranger,  so  superior  in  her  eyes  to 
all  she  had  yet  seen,  was  the  first  who  had  ever  addressed 
her  in  that  voice  which  by  tones,  not  words,  speaks  that 
admiration  most  dear  to  a  woman's  heart.  To  him  she  was 
beautiful,  and  her  lovely  mind  spoke  out,  undimmed  by  the 
imperfections  of  her  face.  Not,  indeed,  that  Lucille  was 
wholly  without  personal  attraction  ;  her  light  step  and  grace- 
ful form  were  elastic  with  the  freshness  of  youth,  and  hei 
mouth  and  smile  had  so  gentle  and  tender  an  expression,  that 
there  were  moments  when  it  would  not  have  been  the  blind 
only  who  would  have  mistaken  her  to  be  beautiful.  Her 
early  childhood  had  indeed  given  the  promise  of  attractions, 
which  the  small-pox,  that  then  fearful  malady,  had  inexorably 
marred.  It  had  not  only  seared  the  smooth  skin  and  the 
brilliant  hues,  but  utterly  changed  even  the  character  of  the 
features.  It  so  happened  that  Lucille's  family  were  cele- 
brated for  beauty,  and  vain  of  that  celebrity  ;  and  so  bitterly 
had  her  parents  deplored  the  effects  of  the  cruel  malady, 
that  poor  Lucille  had  been  early  taught  to  consider  them  far 
more  grievous  than  they  really  were,  and  to  exaggerate  the 
advantages  of  that  beauty,  the  loss  of  which  was  considered  by 
her  parents  so  heavy  a  misfortune.  Lucille,  too,  had  a  cousin 
named  Julie,  who  was  the  wonder  of  all  Malines  for  her  per- 
sonal perfections  ;  and  as  the  cousins  were  much  together, 
the  contrast  was  too  striking  not  to  occasion  frequent  morti- 
fication to  Lucille.  But  everj^  misfortune  has  something  oi 
a  counterpoise  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  personal  inferiority 
had  meekened,  without  souring,  her  temper,  had  given  gentle- 
ness to  a  spirit  that  otherwise  might  have  been  too  high,  and 
humility  to  a  mind  that  was  naturally  strong,  impassioned, 
and  energetic. 

And  yet  Lucille  had  long  conquered  the  one  disadvantage 
she  most  dreaded,  in  the  want  of  beauty.     Lucille  was  never 


j6  the  pilgrims  of  the  RHINE. 

known  but  to  be  loved.  Wherever  came  her  presence,  hei 
bright  and  soft  mind  diffused  a  certain  inexpressible  charm  • 
and  where  she  was  not,  a  something  wis  absent  from  the 
scene  which  not  even  Julie's  beauty  could  replace. 

"  I  propose,"  said  St.  Amand  to  Madame  le  Tisseur, 
Lucille's  mother,  as  he  sat  in  her  little  salon — for  he  had 
already  contracted  that  acquaintance  with  the  family  which 
permitted  him  to  be  led  to  their  house,  to  return  the  visits 
Madame  le  Tisseur  had  made  him  ;  and  his  dog,  oncemoie 
returned  a  penitent  to  his  master,  always  conducted  his  steps 
to  the  humble  abode,  and  stopped  instinctively  at  the  door — 
"  I  propose,"  said  St.  Amand,  after  a  pause,  and  with  some 
embarrassment,  "  to  stay  a  little  while  longer  at  Malines  ; 
the  air  agrees  with  me,  and  I  like  the  quiet  of  the  place  ?  but 
you  are  aware,  madame,  that  at  a  hotel  among  strangers,  I 
feel  my  situation  somewhat  cheerless.  I  have  been  thinking" 
— St.  Amand  paused  again — "  I  have  been  thinking  that  if  I 
could  persuade  some  agreeable  family  to  receive  me  as  a 
lodger,  I  would  fix  myself  here  for  some  weeks.  I  am  easily 
pleased." 

"  Doubtless  there  are  many  in  Malines  who  would  be  too 
happy  to  receive  such  a  lodger." 

"  Will  you  receive  me  ?  "  asked  St.  Amand,  abruptly.  "  It 
was  oi  your  family  I  thought," 

"  Of  us  ?  Monsieur  is  too  flattering.  But  we  have  scarce- 
ly a  room  good  enough  for  you." 

"What  difference  between  one  room  and  another  can 
there  be  lo  me  ?  That  is  the  best  apartment  to  my  choice,  in 
which  the  human  voice  sounds  most  kindly." 

The  arrangement  was  made,  and  St.  Amand  came  now  to 
reside  beneath  the  same  roof  as  Lucille.  And  was  she  not 
happy  that  he  wanted  so  constant  an  attendance  ?  was  she 
not  happy  that  she  was  ever  of  use  ?  St.  Amand  was  passionate- 
ly fond  of  music  ;  he  played  himself  with  a  skill  that  was 
only  surpassed  by  the  exquisite  melody  of  his  voice  ;  and 
was  not  Lucille  happy  when  she  sat  mute  and  listening  to 
such  sounds  as  in  Malines  were  never  heard  before  ?  Was 
she  not  happy  in  gazing  on  a  face  to  whose  melancholy  aspect 
her  voice  instantly  summoned  the  smile  ?  Was  she  not 
happy  when  the  music  ceased,  and  St,  Amand  called 
"  Lucille  ?  "  Did  not  her  own  name  uttered  by  that  voice 
seem  to  her  even  sweeter  than  the  music  ?  Was  she  not 
happy  when  they  walked  out  in  the  still  evenings  of  summer, 
and  her  arm  thrilled  beneath  the  light  touch  of  one  to  whom 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE  27 

she  was  so  necessary  ?  Was  she  not  proud  in  her  happiness, 
and  was  there  not  something  like  worship  in  the  gratitude 
she  felt  to  him,  for  raising  her  humble  spirit  to  the  luxury  of 
feeling  herself  beloved  ? 

St.  Amand's  parents  were  French.     They  had  resided  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Amiens,  where  they  had  inherited  a  com 
petent  property,  to  which  he  had  succeeded  about  two  years 
previous  to  the  date  of  my  story. 

He  had  been  blind  from  the  age  of  three  years.  "  I 
know  not,"  said  he,  as  he  related  these  particulars  to  Lucille 
one  evening  when  they  were  alone  ;  "  I  know  not  what  the 
earth  may  be  like,  or  the  heavens,  or  the  rivers  whose  voice 
at  least  I  can  hear,  for  I  have  no  recollection  beyond  that  of 
a  confused,  but  delicious  blending  of  a  thousand  glorious 
colors — a  bright  and  quick  sense  of  joy — a  visible  music. 
But  it  is  only  since  my  childhood  that  I  have  mourned,  as  I 
now  unceasingly  mourn,  for  the  light  of  day.  My  boyhood 
passed  in  a  quiet  cheerfulness  ;  the  least  trifle  then  could 
please  and  occupy  the  vacancies  of  my  mind  ;  but  it  was  as 
I  took  delight  in  being  read  to  ;  as  I  listened  to  the  vivid 
descriptions  of  poetry  ;  as  I  glowed  at  the  recital  of  great 
deeds  ;  as  I  was  made  acquainted  by  books  with  the  energy, 
the  action,  the  heat,  the  fervor,  the  pomp,  the  enthusiasm  of 
life,  that  I  gradually  opened  to  the  sense  of  all  I  was  for  ever 
denied.  I  felt  that  I  existed,  not  lived  ;  and  that,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Universal  Liberty,  I  was  sentenced  to  a  prison, 
from  whose  blank  walls  there  was  no  escape.  Still  however, 
while  my  parents  lived,  I  had  something  of  consolation ;  a1 
least  I  was  not  alone.  They  died,  and  a  sudden  and  dread 
solitude,  a  vast  and  empty  dreariness,  settled  upon  my  dun- 
geon. One  old  servant  only,  who  had  attended  me  from  my 
childhood,  who  had  known  me  in  my  short  privilege  of  light, 
by  whose  recollections  my  mind  could  grope  back  its  way 
through  the  dark  and  narrow  passages  of  memory  to  the  fain* 
glimpses  of  the  sun,  was  all  that  remained  to  me  of  human 
sympathies.  It  did  not  suffice,  however,  to  content  me  with 
a  home  where  my  father's  and  my  mother's  kind  voice  were 
not.  A  restless  impatience,  an  anxiety  to  move,  possessed 
me,  and  I  set  out  from  my  home,  journeying  whither  I  cared 
not,  so  that  at  least  I  could  change  an  air  that  weighed  upon 
me  like  a  palpable  burthen.  I  took  only  this  old  attendant 
as  my  companion  ;  he  too  died  three  months  since  at  Brux- 
elles,  worn  out  with  years.  Alas  1  I  had  forgotten  that  he 
was  old,  for  I  saw  not  his  progress  to  decay ;  and  now,  saye 


28  THE  PILGRIMS  OP  THE  RHINE. 

my  faithless  dog,  I  was  utterly  alone,  till  I  came  hither  and 
found  thee.^^ 

Lucille  stooped  down  to  caress  the  dog ;  she  blessed  the 
desertion  that  had  led  him  to  a  friend  who  never  could  de- 
sert. 

But  however  much,  and  however  gratefully,  St.  Amand 
loved  Lucille,  her  power  availed  not  to  chase  the  melancholy 
from  his  brow,  and  to  reconcile  him  to  his  forlorn  condition, 

"  All !  would  that  I  could  see  thee  !  Would  that  I  could 
look  upon  a  face  that  my  heart  vainly  endeavors  to  delin- 
eate. 

"  If  thou  couldst,"  sighed  Lucille,  "  thou  wouldst  cease 
to  love  me." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  St.  Amand,  passionately.  "  How- 
ever the  world  may  find  thee,  thou  wouldst  become  my  stan- 
dard of  beauty  ;  and  I  should  judge  not  of  thee  by  others, 
but  of  others  by  thee." 

He  loved  to  hear  Lucille  read  to  him,  and  mostly  he 
loved  the  descriptions  of  war,  of  travel,  of  wild  adventure, 
and  yet  they  occasioned  him  the  most  pain.  Often  she 
paused  from  the  page  as  she  heard  him  sigh,  and  felt  that 
she  would  even  have  renounced  the  bliss  of  being  loved  by 
him,  if  she  could  have  restored  to  him  that  blessing,  the  de- 
sire for  which  haunted  him  as  a  spectre. 

Lucille's  family  were  Catholic,  and,  like  most  in  their 
station,  they  possessed  the  superstitions,  as  well  as  the  de- 
votion of  the  faith.  Sometimes  they  amused  themselves,  of 
an  evening,  by  the  various  legends  and  imaginary  miracles 
of  their  calendar  ;  and  once,  as  they  were  thus  conversing  with 
two  or  three  of  their  neighbors,  "The  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings 
of  Cologne  "  became  the  main  topic  of  their  wondering  re- 
citals. However  strong  was  the  sense  of  Lucille,  she  was, 
as  you  will  readily  conceive,  naturally  influenced  by  the  be- 
lief of  those  with  whom  she  had  been  brought  up  from  her 
cradle,  and  she  listened  to  tale  after  tale  of  the  miracles 
wrought  at  the  consecrated  tomb,  as  earnestly  and  undoubt- 
ingly  as  the  rest. 

And  the  kings  of  the  East  were  no  ordinary  saints  ;  to 
the  relics  of  the  Three  Magi,  who  followed  the  Star  of 
Bethlehem,  and  were  the  first  potentates  of  the  earth  who 
adored  its  Saviour,  well  might  the  pious  Catholic  suppose 
that  a  peculiar  power,  and  a  healing  sanctity,  would  belong. 
Each  of  the  circle  (St.  Amand,  who  had  been  more  than  us- 
ually silent,  and  even  gloomy  during  the  day,  had  retired  to 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  29 

his  own  apartment,  for  there  were  some  moments  when,  in 
the  sadness  of  his  thoughts,  he  sought  that  solitude  which  he 
so  impatiently  fled  from  at  others) — each  of  the  circle  had 
some  story^  to  relate  equally  veracious  and  indisputable,  of 
an  infirmity  cured,  or  a  prayer  accorded,  or  a  sin  atoned  for 
at  the  foot  of  the  holy  tomb.  One  story  peculiarly  affected 
Lucille  ;  the  narrator,  a  venerable  old  man  with  gray  locks, 
•solemnly  declared  himself  a  witness  of  its  truth. 

A  woman  at  Anvers  had  given  birth  to  a  son,  the  off- 
spring of  an  illicit  connection,  who  came  into  the  world  deaf 
and  dumb.  The  unfortunate  mother  believed  the  calamity  a 
punishment  for  her  own  sin.  "  Ah  !  would,"  said  she,  "  that 
the  affliction  had  fallen  only  upon  me  !  Wretch  that  I  am, 
my  innocent  child  is  punished  for  my  offence  !  "  This  idea 
haunted  her  night  and  day  :  she  pined  and  could  not  be  com- 
forted. As  the  child  grew  up,  and  wound  himself  more  and 
more  round  her  heart,  his  caresses  added  new  pangs  to  her 
remorse  ;  and  at  length  (continued  the  narrator)  hearing  per- 
petually of  the  holy  fame  of  the  Tpmb  of  Cologne,  she  re- 
solved upon  a  pilgrimage  barefoot  to  the  shrine.  "  God  is 
merciful,"  said  she,  "  and  he  who  called  Magdalene  his  sis- 
ter, may  take  the  mother's  curse  from  the  child."  She  then 
went  to'  Cologne  ;  she  poured  her  tears,  and  her  prayers,  at 
the  sacred  tomb.  When  she  returned  to  her  native  town, 
what  was  her  dismay  as  she  approached  her  cottage  to  behold 
it  a  heap  of  ruins  ! — its  blackened  rafters  and  yawning  case- 
ments betokened  the  ravages  of  fire.  The  poor  woman  sank 
upon  the  ground  utterly  overpowered.  Had  her  son  per 
ished  ?  At  that  moment  she  heard  the  crj'  of  a  child's  voice, 
and,  lo  !  her  child  rushed  to  her  arms,  and  called  her 
"  mother  !  " 

Pie  had  beei.  saved  from  the  fire  which  had  broken  out 
seven  days  before  but  in  the  terror  he  had  suffered,  the 
string  that  tied  his  tongue  had  been  loosened  ;  he  had  uttered 
articulate  sounds  of  distress  ;  the  curse  was  remove'd,  and 
one  word  at  least  the  kind  neighbors  had  already  taught  him, 
to  welcome  his  mother's  return.  What  cared  she  now  that 
her  substance  was  gone,  that  her  roof  was  ashes  ? — she  bowed 
in  grateful  submission  to  so  mild  a  stroke  ;  her  prayer  had 
been  heard,  and  the  sin  of  the  mother  was  visited  no  longer 
on  the  child. 

I  have  said,  dear  Gertrude,  that  this  story  made  a  deep 
mipression  upon  Lucille.  A  misfortune  so  nearly  akin  to 
that  of  St.  Amand,  removed  by  the  prayer  of  another,  filled 


JO  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

her  with  derated  thoughts,  and  a  beautiful  hope.  "  Is  not 
the  tomb  still  standing  ?  "  thought  she.  "  Is  not  God  still 
in  heaven  ? — He  who  heard  the  guilty,  may  He  not  hear  the 
guiltless  ?  Is  He  not  the  God  of  love  ?  Are  not  the  affec- 
tions the  offerings  that  please  Him  best  ?  and  what  though 
the  diild's  mediator  was  his  mother,  can  even  a  mother  love 
her  child  more  tenderly  than  I  love  Eugene  ?  But  if,  Lucille, 
thy  prayer  be  granted,  if  he  recover  his  sight,  thy  charm  is 
gone,  he  will  love  thee  no  longer.  No  matter  !  be  it  so — I 
shall  at  least  have  made  him  happy  !  " 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  filled  the  mind  of  Lucille  ; 
she  cherished  them  till  they  settled  into  resolution,  and  she 
secretly  vowed  to  perform  her  pilgrimage  of  love.  She  told 
neither  St.  Amand  nor  her  parents  of  her  intention  ;  she 
knew  the  obstacles  such  an  announcement  would  create. 
Fortunately  she  had  an  aunt  settled  at  Bruxelles,  to  whom 
she  been  accustomed,  once  in  eveiy  year,  to  pay  a  month's 
visit,  and  at  that  time  she  generally  took  with  her  the  work  of 
a  twelvemonth's  industry,  which  found  a  readier  sale  at 
Bruxelles  than  at  Malines.  Lucille  and  St.  Amand  were 
already  betrothed  ;  their  wedding  was  shortly  to  take  place  ; 
and  the  custom  of  the  country  leading  parents,  however  poor, 
to  nourish  the  honorable  ambition  of  giving  some  dowry  with 
their  daughters,  Lucille  found  it  easy  to  hide  the  object  of 
her  departure,  under  the  pretence  of  taking  the  lace  to  Brux- 
elles, which  had  been  the  year's  labor  of  her  mother  and  her- 
self— it  would  sell  for  sufficient,  at  least,  to  defray  the  prep- 
arations for  the  wedding. 

"  Thou  art  ever  right,  child,"  said  Madame  le  Tisseur  ; 
"  the  richer  St.  Amand  is,  why  the  less  oughtest  thou  to  go  a 
beggar  to  his  house." 

In  fact,  the  honest  ambition  of  the  good  people  was  ex- 
cited ;  their  pride  had  been  hurt  by  the  envy  of  the  town  and 
the  current  congratulations  on  so  advantageous  a  marriage  ; 
and  they  employed  themselves  in  counting  up  the  fortune 
they  should  be  able  to  give  to  their  only  child,  and  flattering 
their  pardonable  vanity  with  the  notion  that  there  would  be 
no  such  great  disproportion  in  the  connection  after  all.  They 
were  right,  but  not  in  their  own  view  of  the  estimate  ;  the 
wealth  that  Lucille  brought  was  what  fate  could  not  lessen, — 
reverse  could  not  reach, — the  ungracious  seasons  could  not 
blight  its  sweet  harvest, —  imprudence  could  not  dissipate, 
fraud  could  not  steal,  one  grain  from  its  abundant  coffers  I. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  31 

Like  the  purse  in   the  Fairy  Tale,   its   use  was  hourly,   its 
treasure  inexhaustible. 

St.  Amand  alone  was  not  to  be  won  to  her  departure  ; 
he  chafed  at  the  notion  of  a  dowry ;  he  was  not  appeased 
even  by  Lucille's  representation,  that  it  was  only  to  gratify 
and  not  to  impoverish  her  parents.  "  And  thou,  too,  canst 
leave  me  !  "  he  said,  in  that  plaintive  voice  which  had  made 
his  first  charm  to  Lucille's  heart.  "  It  is  a  double  blind 
ness  !  " 

"  But  for  a  few  days ;  a  fortnight  at  most,  dearest 
Eugene." 

"  A  fortnight !  you  do  not  reckon  time  as  the  blind  do," 
said  St.  Amand,  bitterly. 

"  But  listen,  listen,  dear  Eugene,"  said  Lucille,  weeping. 

The  sound  of  her  sobs  restored  him  to  a  sense  of  his  in- 
gratitude. Aks,  he  knew  not  how  much  he  had  to  be  grate- 
ful for.  He  held  out  his  arms  to  her  ;  "  Forgive  me,"  said 
he.  "  Those  who  can  see  nature  know  not  how  terrible  it  is  to 
be  alone." 

"  But  my  mother  will  not  leave  you." 

"  She  is  not  you  !  " 

"  And  Julie,"  said  Lucille,  hesitatingly. 

'■'  What  is  Julie  to  me  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  are  the  only  one,  save  my  parents,  who  could 
think  of  me  in  her  presence." 

"  And  whv,  Lucille  ?  " 

'■'  Why  !     She  is  more  beautiful  than  a  dream." 

"  Say  not  so.  Would  I  could  see,  that  I  might  prove  to 
the  world  how  much  more  beautiful  thou  art !  There  is  no 
music  in  her  voice." 

The  evening  before  Lucille  departed,  she  sat  up  late  with 
St.  Amand  and  her  mother.  They  conversed  on  the  future  ; 
they  made  plans  ;  in  the  wide  sterility  of  the  world  they  laid 
out  the  garden  of  household  love,  and  filled  it  with  flowers, 
forgetful  of  the  wind  that  scatters,  and  the  frost  that  kills. 
And  when,  leaning  on  Lucille's  arm,  St.  Amand  sought  his 
chamber,  and  they  parted  at  his  door,  which  closed  upon  her 
she  fell  down  on  her  knees  at  the  threshold,  and  poured  out 
the  fulness  of  her  heart  in  a  prayer  for  his  safety,  and  the 
fulfilment  of  her  timid  hope. 

At  daybreak  she  was  consigned  to  the  conveyance  that 
performed  the  short  journey  from  Malines  to  Bruxelles. 
When  she  entered  the  town,  instead  of  seeking  her  aunt,  she 
rested  at  an  auberge  in  the  suburbs,  and   confiding  her  little 


32 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


basket  of  lace  to  the  care  of  its  hostess,  she  set  out  alone, 
and  on  foot,  upon  the  errand  of  her  heart's  lovely  supersti- 
tion. And  erring  though  it  was,  her  faith  redeemed  its  weak- 
ness— her  affection  made  it  even  sacred.  And  well  may  we 
believe,  that  the  Eye  which  reads  all  secrets,  scarce  looked 
reprovingly  on  that  fanaticism  whose  only  infirmity  was  love. 
So  fearful  was  she,  lest,  by  rendering  the  task  too  easy, 
she  might  impair  the  effect,  that  she  scarcely  allowed  herself 
rest  or  food.  Sometimes,  in  the  heat  of  noon,  she  wandered 
a  little  from  the  roadside,  and  under  the  spreading  lime-trees 
surrendered  her  mind  to  its  sweet  and  bitter  thoughts  ;  but 
ever  the  restlessness  of  her  enterprise  urged  her  on,  and  faint, 
weary,  and  with  bleeding  feet,  she  started  up  and  continued 
her  way.  At  length  she  reached  the  ancient  city,  where  a 
holier  age  has  scarce  worn  from  the  habits  and  aspects  of 
men  the  Roman  trace.  She  prostrated  herself  at  the  tomb 
of  the  Magi ;  she  proffered  her  ardent  but  humble  prayer  to 
Him  before  whose  Son  those  fleshless  heads  (yet  to  faith  at 
least  preserved)  had,  eighteen  centuries  ago,  bowed  in  adora- 
tion. Twice  every  day,  for  a  whole  week,  she  sought  the 
same  spot,  and  poured  forth  the  same  prayer.  The  last  day 
an  old  priest,  who,  hovering  in  the  church,  had,  observed  her 
constantly  at  devotion,  with  that  fatherly  interest  which  the 
better  ministers  of  the  Catholic  sect  (that  sect  which  has 
covered  the  earth  with  the  mansions  of  charity)  feel  for  the 
unhappy,  approached  her  as  she  was  retiring  with  moist  and 
downcast  eyes,  and  saluting  her,  assumed  the  privilege  of  his 
order,  to  inquire  if  there  was  aught  in  which  his  advice  or  aid 
could  serve.  There  was  something  in  the  venerable  air  of 
the  old  man  which  encouraged  Lucille ;  she  opened  her 
heart  to  him  ;  she  told  him  all.  The  good  priest  was  much 
moved  by  her  simplicity  and  earnestness.  He  questioned 
her  minutely  as  to  the  peculiar  species  of  blindness  with 
which  St.  Amand  was  afflicted  ;  and  after  musing  a  little 
while,  he  said,  "  Daughter,  God  is  great  and  merciful ;  we 
must  trust  in  his  power,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  he  mostly 
works  by  mortal  agents.  As  you  pass  through  Louvain  in 
your  way  home,  fail  not  to  see  there  a  certain  physician, 
named  Le  Kain.  He  is  celebrated  through  Flanders  for  the 
cures  he  has  wrought  among  the  blind,  and  his  advice  is 
sought  by  all  classes  from  far  and  near.  He  lives  hard  by 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  but  any  one  will  inform  you  of  his  resi- 
dence. Stay,  my  child,  you  shall  take  him  a  note  from  me  ; 
he  is  a  benevolent  and  kindly  man,  and  you  shall   tell  him 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE 


33 


exactly  the  same  story  (and  with  the  same  voice)  you  have 
told  to  me." 

So  saying,  the  priest  made  Lucille  accompany  him  to  his 
home,  and  forcing  her  to  refresh  herself  less  sparingly  than 
she  had  yet  done  since  she  had  left  Malines,  he  gave  her  his 
blessing,  and  a  letter  to  Le  Kain,  which  he  rightly  judged 
would  ensure  her  a  patient  hearing  from  the  physician.  Well 
known  among  all  men  of  j  .ence  was  the  name  of  the  priest, 
and  a  word  of  recommenuation  from  him  went  farther,  where 
virtue  and  wisdom  were  honored,  than  the  longest  letter  from 
the  haughtiest  sieur  in  Flanders. 

With  a  patient  and  hopeful  spirit,  the  young  pilgrim 
turned  her  back  on  the  Roman  Cologne  ;  and  now  about  to 
rejoin  St.  Amand,  she  felt  neither  the  heat  of  the  sun  nor 
the  weariness  of  the  road.  It  was  one  day  at  noon  that  she 
again  passed  through  Louvain,  and  she  soon  found  herself 
by  the  noble  edifice  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Proud  rose  its 
spires  against  the  sky,  and  the  sun  shone  bright  on  its  rich 
tracery  and  Gothic  casements  ;  the  broad  open  street  was 
crowded  with  persons  of  all  classes,  and  it  was  with  some 
modest  alarm  that  Lucille  lowered  her  veil  and  mingled  with 
the  throng.  It  was  easy,  as  the  priest  had  said,  to  find  the 
house  of  Le  Kain  ;  she  bade  the  servant  take  the  priest's 
letter  to  his  master,  and  she  was  not  long  kept  waiting  before 
she  was  admitted  to  the  physician's  presence.  He  was  a 
spare,  tall  man,  with  a  bald  front,  and  a  calm  and  friendly 
countenance.  He  was  not  less  touched  than  the  priest  had 
been,  by  the  manner  in  which  she  narrated  her  story,  described 
the  affliction  of  her  betrothed,  and  the  hope  that  had  inspired 
the  pilgrimage  she  had  just  made. 

"  Well,"  he  said  encouragingly,  "  we  must  see  our  patient. 
You  can  bring  him  hither  to  me." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  had  hoped "  Lucille  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What,  my  young  friend  ?  " 

"  I'hat  I  might  have  had  the  triumph  of  bringing  you  to 
Malines.  I  know,  sir,  what  you  are  about  to  say  ;  and  I 
know,  sir,  your  time  must  be  very  valuable  ;  but  I  am  not 
sc  poor  as  I  seem,  and  Eugene,  that  is  Monsieur  St.  Amand, 
is  very  rich,  and, — and  I  have  at  Bruxelles,  what  I  am  sure  is 
a  large  sum  ;  it  was  to  have  provided  for  the  wedding,  but  it 
is  most  heartily  at  your  service,  sir." 

Le  Kain  smiled  ;  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  love  to 
read  the  human  heart  when  its  leaves  are  fair  and  undefiled  ; 
and,  in  the  benevolence  of  science,  he  would  have  gone  a 


34  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

longer  journey  than  from  Louvain  to  Malines  to  give  sight  to 
the  blind,  even  had  St.  Amand  been  a  beggar. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he  ;  but  you  forget  that  Monsieur  St. 
Amand  is  not  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  wants  me.  I 
must  look  at  my  note-book,  and  see  if  I  can  be  spared  for  a 
day  or  two." 

So  saying,  he  glanced  at  his  memoranda ;  ever}'thing 
smiled  on  Lucille  ;  he  had  no  engagements  that  his  partner 
could  not  fulfil,  for  some  days  ;  he  consented  to  accompany 
Lucille  to  Malines. 

Meanwhile,  cheerless  and  dull  had  passed  the  time  to  St. 
Amand  ;  he  was  perpetually  asking  Madame  le  Tisseur  what 
hour  it  was  ;  it  was  almost  his  only  question.  There  seemed 
to  him  no  sun  in  the  heavens,  no  freshness  in  the  air — and 
he  even  forbore  his  favorite  music  ;  the  instrument  had  lost 
its  sweetness  since  Lucille  was  not  by  to  listen. 

It  was  natural  that  the  gossips  of  Malines  should  feeV 
some  envy  at  the  marriage  Lucille  was  about  to  make  with 
one,  whose  competence  report  had  exaggerated  into  prodigal 
wealth,  whose  birth  had  been  elevated  from  the  respectable 
to  the  noble,  and  whose  handsome  person  was  clothed  by 
the  interest  excited  by  his  misfortune,  with  the  beauty  of 
Antinous.  Even  that  misfortune,  which  ought  to  have  leveled 
all  distinctions,  was  not  sufficient  to  check  the  general  envy; 
]5erhaps  to  some  of  the  damsels  of  Malines  blindness  in  a 
husband  would  not  have  seemed  an  unwelcome  infirmity ! 
But  there  was  one  in  whom  this  envy  rankled  with  a  peculiar 
sting ;  it  was  the  beautiful,  the  all  conquering  Julie.  That  the 
humble,  the  neglected  Lucille  should  be  preferred  to  her ; 
that  Lucille,  whose  existence  was  w^ell-nigh  forgot  beside 
Julie's,  should  become  thus  suddenly  of  importance  ;  that 
there  should  be  one  person  in  the  world,  and  that  person 
young,  rich,  handsome,  to  whom  she  was  less  than  nothing, 
when  weighed  in  the  balance  with  Lucille,  mortified  to  the 
quick  a  vanity  that  had  never  till  then  received  a  wound. 
"  It  is  well,"  she  would  say  with  a  bitter  jest,  "  that  Lucille's 
lover  is  blind.  To  be  the  one,  it  is  necessary  to  be  the 
other !  " 

During  Lucille's  absence  she  had  been  constantly  in 
Madame  le  Tisseur's  house  ;  indeed  Lucille  had  prayed  her 
to  be  so.  She  had  sought,  with  an  industry  that  astonished 
herself,  to  supply  Lucille's  place,  and  among  the  strange  con- 
tradictions of  human  nature,   she  had   learned  during  her 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  35 

efforts  to  please,  to  love  the  object  of  those  efforts — as  much, 
at  least,  as  she  was  capable  of  loving. 

She  conceived  a  positive  hatred  to  Lucille  ;  she  persisted 
in  imagining  that  nothing  but  the  accident  of  first  acquain- 
tance had  deprived  her  of  a  conquest  with  which  she  per- 
suaded herself  her  happiness  had  become  connected.  Had 
St.  Amand  never  loved  Lucille  and  proposed  to  Julie,  his 
misfortune  would  have  made  her  reject  him,  despite  his 
wealth  and  his  youth  ;  but  to  be  Lucille's  lover,  and  a  conquest 
to  be  won  from  Lucille,  raised  him  instantly  to  an  importance 
not  his  own.  Safe,  however,  in  his  affliction,the  arts  and  beauty 
of  Julie  fell  harmless  on  the  fidelity  of  St  Amand.  Nay,  he 
jiked  her  less  than  ever,  for  it  seemed  an  impertinence  in  any 
one  to  counterfeit  the  anxiety  and  watchfulness  of  Lucille. 

"  It  is  time,  surely  it  is  time,  Madame  le  Tisseur,  that 
Lucille  should  return  !  She  might  have  sold  all  the  lace  in 
Malines  by  this  time,"  said  St.  Amand,  one  day,  peevishly. 

"  Patience,  my  dear  friend,  patience ;  perhaps  she  may 
return  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  let  me  see,  it  is  only  six  o'clock — only  six, 
you  are  sure  ?  " 

"Just  five,  dear  Eugene — shall  I  read  to  you?  this  is 
a  new  book  from  Paris  ;  it  has  made  a  great  noise  ;  "  said 
Julie. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  will  not  trouble  you." 

"  It  is  anything  but  trouble." 

"  In  a  word,  then,  I  would  rather  not." 

"  Oh  !  that  he  could  see,"  thought  Julie  ;  "  would  I  not 
punish  him  for  this  !  " 

"  I  hear  carriage-wheels  :  who  can  be  passing  this  way  ? 
Surely  it  is  the  voiturier  from  Bruxelles,"  said  St.  Amand, 
starting  up  ;  "  it  is  his  day — his  hour,  too.  Nor,  no,  it  is  a 
lighter  vehicle,"  and  he  sank  down  listlessly  on  his  seat. 

Nearer  and  nearer  rolled  the  wheels  ;  they  turned  the 
corner  ;  they  stopped  at  the  lowly  door ;  and,  overcome, 
overjoyed,  Lucille  was  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  St.  Amand. 

'•  Stay,"  said  she,  blushing,  as  she  recovered  her  self- 
f  ossession,  and  turned  to  Le  Kain  ;  "  pray  pardon  me,  sir. 
Dear  Eugene,  I  have  brought  with  me  one  who,  by  God's 
blessing,  may  yet  restore  you  to  sight." 

"  We  must  not  be  sanguine,  my  child,"  said  Le  Kain ; 
"  anything  is  belter  than  disappointment." 

To  close  this  part  of  my  story,  dear  Gertrude,  Le  Kain 
examined  St.  Amand.  and  the  result  of  the  examination  wi<s  ■» 


36 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


confident  belief  in  the  probability  of  a  cure,  St.  Amand 
gladly  consented  to  the  experiment  of  an  operation  ;  it  suc- 
ceeded— the  blind  man  saw  !  Oh  !  what  were  Lucille's  feel- 
ings, what  her  emotion,  what  her  joy,  when  she  found  the 
object  of  her  pilgrimage — of  her  prayers — fulfilled  !  That 
joy  was  so  intense,  that  in  the  eternal  alternations  of  human 
life  she  might  have  foretold  from  its  excess  how  bitter  the 
sorrows  fated  to  ensue. 

As  soon  as  by  degrees  the  patient's  new  sense  became 
reconciled  to  the  light,  his  first,  his  only  demand,  was  for 
Lucille.  "  No,  let  me  not  see  her  alone,  let  me  see  her  in 
the  midst  of  you  all,  that  I  may  convince  you  that  thG  heart 
never  is  mistaken  in  its  instincts.*'  With  a  fearful,  a  sinking, 
presentiment,  Lucille  yielded  to  the  request,  to  which  the 
impetuous  St.  Amand  would  hear  indeed  no  denial.  The 
father,  the  mother,  Julie,  Lucille,  Julie's  younger  sisters 
assembled  in  the  little  parlor  :  the  door  opened,  and  St. 
Amand  stood  hesitating  on  the  threshold.  One  look  around 
sufficed  to  him  ;  his  face  brightened,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 
"  Lucille  !  Lucille  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  you,  I  know  it,  you 
only  !  "     He  sprang  forward,  and  7^//  at  the  feet  of  Julie  I 

Flushed,  elated,  triumphant,  Julie  bent  upon  him  her 
si^arkling  eyes  ;  she  did  not  undeceive  him. 

"  You  are  wrong,  you  mistake,"  said  Madame  le  Tisseur, 
in  confusion ;  "  that  is  her  cousin  Julie — this  is  your  Lu- 
cille." 

St.  Amand  rose,  turned,  saw  Lucille,  and  at  that  moment 
she  wished  herself  in  her  grave.  Surprise,  mortification, 
disappointment,  almost  dismay,  were  depicted  in  his  gaze. 
He  had  been  haunting  his  prison-house  with  dreams,  and, 
now  set  free,  he  felt  how  unlike  they  were  to  the  truth.  Too 
new  to  observation  to  read  the  woe,  the  despair,  the  lapse 
and  shrinking  of  the  whole  frame,  that  his  look  occasioned 
Lucille,  he  yet  felt,  when  the  first  shock  of  his  surprise 
was  over,  that  it  was  not  thus  he  should  thank  her  who  had 
restored  him  to  sight.  He  hastened  to  redeem  his  error  ; — ■ 
ah  !  how  could  it  be  redeemed  ! 

From  that  hour,  all  Lucille's  happiness  was  at  an  end  ; 
her  fairy  palace  was  shattered  in  the  dust;  the  magician's 
wand  was  broken  up ;  the  Ariel  was  given  to  the  winds  ;  and 
the  bright  enchantment  no  longer  distinguished  the  land  she 
lived  in  from  the  rest  of  the  barren  world.  It  was  true  that 
St.  Amand's  words  were  kind  ;  it  is  true  that  he  remembered 
'vith  the  deepefet  gratitude  all  she  had   done  in  his  behalf  ;  it 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  37 

is  true  that  he  forced  himself  again  and  again  to  say,  "  She 
is  my  betrothed — my  benefactress  !  "  and  he  cursed  himself 
to  think  that  the  feelings  he  had  entertained  for  her  were 
fled.  Where  was  the  passion  of  his  words  ?  where  the  ardor 
of  his  tone  ?  where  that  play  and  light  of  countenance  which 
her  step,  her  voice,  could  formerly  call  forth  ?  When  they 
were  alone  he  was  embarrassed  and  constrained,  and  almost 
cold  ;  his  hand  no  longer  sought  hers  ;  his  soul  no  longer 
missed  her  if  she  was  absent  a  moment  from  his  side.  When 
in  their  household  circle,  he  seemed  visibly  more  at  ease  ; 
but  did  his  eyes  fasten  upon  her  who  had  opened  them  to  the 
day  ?  did  they  not  wander  at  every  interval  with  a  too  elo- 
quent admiration  to  the  blushing  and  radiant  face  of  the  ex- 
ulting Julie  ?  This  was  not,  you  will  believe,  suddenly 
perceptible  in  one  day  or  one  week,  but  eveiy  day  it  was  per- 
ceptible more  and  more.  Yet  still — bewitched,  ensnared, 
as  St.  Amand  was — he  never  perhaps  would  have  been 
guilty  of  an  infidelity  that  he  strove  with  the  keenest  remorse 
to  wrestle  against,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fatal  contrast,  at 
the  first  moment  of  his  gushing  enthusiasm,  which  Julie  had 
presented  to  Lucille  ;  but  for  that  he  would  have  formed  no 
previous  idea  of  real  and  living  beauty  to  aid  the  disappoint- 
ment of  his  imaginings  and  his  dreams.  He  would  have 
seen  Lucille  young  and  graceful,  and  with  ej-es  beaming 
affection,  contrasted  only  by  the  wrinkled  countenance  and 
bended  frame  of  her  parents,  and  she  would  have  completed 
her  conquest  over  him  before  he  had  discovered  that  she 
was  less  l^eautiful  than  others  ;  nay,  more — that  infidelity 
never  could  have  lasted  above  the  first  few  days,  if  the  vain 
and  heartless  object  of  it  had  not  exerted  every  art,  all  the 
power  and  witcher}'-  of  her  beauty,  to  cement  and  continue  it. 
The  unfortunate  Lucille — so  susceptible  to  the  slightest 
change  in  those  she  loved,  so  diffident  of  herself,  so  proud, 
too,  in  that  diffidence — no  longer  necessary,  no  longer  missed, 
no  longer  loved — could  not  bear  to  endure  the  galling  com- 
parison beween  the  past  and  the  present.  She  fled  uncom- 
plainingly to  her  chamber  to  indulge  her  tears,  and  thus,  un- 
happily, absent  as  her  father  generally  was  during  the  day, 
and  busied  as  her  mother  was  either  at  v>'ork  or  in  household 
matters,  she  left  Julie  a  thousand  opportunities  to  complete 
the  power  she  had  begun  to  wield  over — no,  not  the  heart  ! — 
the  senses  of  St.  Amand  !  Yet,  still  not  suspecting,  in  the 
open  generosity  of  her  mind,  the  whole  extent  of  her  affliction, 
poor  Lucille  buoyed  herself  at  times  with  the  hope  that,  when 


38     -  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

once  married,  when,  once  in  that  intimacy  of  friendship,  the 
unsjDeakable  love  she  felt  for  him  could  disclose  itself  with 
less  restraint  than  at  present — she  should  perhaps  regain  a 
heart  which  had  been  so  devotedly  hers,  that  she  could  not 
think  that  without  a  fault  it  was  irrevocably  gone  :  on  that 
hope  she  anchored  all  the  little  happiness  that  remained  to 
her.  And  still  St.  Amand  pressed  their  marriage,  but  in 
what  different  tones  !  In  fact,  he  wished  to  preclude  from 
himself  the  possibility  of  a  deeper  ingratitude  than  that 
which  he  had  incurred  already.  He  vainly  thought  that  the 
broken  reed  of  love  might  be  bound  up  and  strengthened  by 
the  ties  of  duty ;  and  at  least  he  was  anxious  that  his  hand, 
his  fortune,  his  esteem,  his  gratitude,  should  give  to  Lucille 
the  only  recompense  it  was  now  in  his  power  to  bestow. 
Meanwhile,  left  alone  so  often  with  Julie,  and  Julie  bent  on 
achieving  the  last  triumph  over  his  heart,  St.  Amand  was 
gradually  preparing  a  far  different  reward,  a  far  different  re- 
turn for  her  to  whom  he  owed  so  incalculable  a  debt. 

There  was  a  garden,  behind  the  house,  in  which  there  was 
a  small  arbor,  where  often  in  the  summer  evenings  Eugene 
and  Lucille  had  sat  together — hours  never  to  return  !  One  day 
she  heard  from  her  own  chamber,  where  she  sat  mourning, 
the  sound  of  St.  Amand's  flute  swelling  gently  from  that  be- 
loved and  consecrated  bower.  She  wept  as  she  heard  it,  and 
the  memories  that  the  music  bore,  softening  and  endearing 
his  image,  she  began  to  teproach  herself  that  she  had  yielded 
so  often  to  the  impulse  of  her  wounded  feelings  ;  that  chilled 
by  his  coldness,  she  had  left  him  so  often  to  himself,  and  had 
not  sufficiently  dared  to  tell  him  of  that  affection  which,  in  her 
modest  self-depreciation,  constituted  her  only  pretension  to 
his  love.  "  Perhaps  he  is  alone  now,"  she  thought  ;  "the  air 
too  is  one  which  he  knows  that  I  love  :  "  and  with  her  heart 
in  her  steps,  she  stole  from  the  house  and  sought  the  arbor.  She 
had  scarce  turned  from  her  chamber  when  the  flute  ceased  ; 
a  she  neared  the  arbor,  she  heard  voices — Julie's  voice  in 
grief,  St.  Amand's  in  consolation.  A  dread  foreboding  seized 
her  ;  her  feet  clung  rooted  to  the  earth. 

"  Yes,  marry  her — forget  me,"  said  Julie  ;  "  in  a  few  days 
you  will  be  another's,  and  I,  I — forgive  me,  Eugene,  forgive 
me  that  I  have  disturbed  your  happiness,  I  am  punished 
sufficiently — my  heart  will  break,  but  it  will  break  in  loving 
you  :"  sobs  choked  Julie's  voice. 

"  Oh,  speak  not  thus,"said  St.  Amand.  "I,  /  only  am 
to  blame  ;  I,  false  to  both,  ungrateful.     Oh,  from  the  hour  that 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  39 

these  eyes  opened  upon  you,  I  drank  in  a  new  life  ;  the  sun 
itself  to  me  was  less  wonderful  than  your  beauty.  But — but — • 
let  me  forget  that  hour.  What  do  I  not  owe  to  Lucille  ?  It 
shall  be  wretched-I  shall  deserve  to  be  so  ;  for  shall  I  not  think 
Julie,  that  I  have  embittered  your  life  with  our  ill-fated  love  ? 
But  all  that  I  can  give — my  hand — my  home — my  plighted 
faith — must  be  hers.  Nay,  Julie  nay — why  that  look  ?  could 
I  act  otherwise  ?  can  I  dream  otherwise  ?  Whatever  the  sac- 
rifice, must  I  not  render  it  ?  Ah,  what  do  I  owe  to  Lucille, 
were  it  only  for  the  thought  that  but  for  her  I  might  never 
have  seen  thee  !  " 

Lucille  stayed  to  hear  no  more  ;  with  the  same  soft  step 
as  that  which  had  borne  her  within  hearing  of  these  fatal 
words,  she  turned  her  back  once  more  to  her  desolate  cham- 
ber. 

That  evening,  as  St.  Amand  was  sitting  alone  in  his 
apartment,  he  heard  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,' 
he  ?aid  ;  and  Lucille  entered.  He  started  in  some  confusion, 
and  would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  gently  repulsed  him. 
She  took  a  seat  opposite  to  him,  and  looking  down,  thus  ad- 
dressed him  : — 

"  My  dear  Eugene,  that  is  Monsieur  St.  Amand,  I  have 
something  on  my  mmd  that  I  think  it  better  to  speak  at  once  ; 
and  if  I  do  not  exactly  express  what  I  would  wish  to  say,  you 
must  not  be  offended  with  Lucille  :  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  to 
put  into  words  what  one  feels  deeply."  Coloring,  and  sus- 
pecting something  of  the  truth,  St.  Amand  would  have  bro- 
ken in  upon  her  here  ;  but  she,  with  a  gentle  impatience,  mo- 
tioned him  to  be  silent,  and  continued  : — 

"  You  know  that  when  you  once  loved  me,  I  used  to  tell 
you  that  you  would  cease  to  do  so,  could  you  see  how  unde- 
serving I  was  of  your  attachment !  I  did  not  deceive  myself 
Eugene ;  I  always  felt  assured  that  such  would  be  the  case^ 
that  your  love  for  me  necessarily  rested  on  your  affliction  ; 
but  for  all  that,  I  never  at  least  had  a  dream,  or  a  desire,  but 
for  your  happiness  ;  and  God  knows,  that  if  again,  by  walkmg 
barefooted,  not  to  Cologne,  but  to  Rome — to  the  end  of  the 
world,  I  could  save  you  from  a  much  less  misfortune  than 
that  of  blindness,  I  would  cheerfully  do  it ;  yes,  even  though 
I  might  foretell  all  the  while  that,  on  my  return,  you  would 
speak  to  me  coldly,  think  of  me  lightly,  and  that  the  penalty 
to  me  would — would  be — what  it  has  been  !  "  Here  Lucille 
wiped  a  few  natural  tears  from  her  eyes ;  St.  Amand,  struck 


^j  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

to  the  heart,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  without  the 
courage  to  interrupt  her.     Lucille  continued  : — 

"  That  which  I  foresaw,  has  come  to  pass ;  I  am  no 
longer  to  you  what  I  once  was,  when  you  could  clothe  this 
poor  form  and  this  homely  face  with  a  beauty  they  dxl  not 
possess  ;  you  would  wed  me  still,  it  is  true  ;  but  I  am  proud, 
Eugene,  and  cannot  stoop  to  gratitude  where  I  once  had 
love.  I  am  not  so  unjust  as  to  blame  you  ;  the  change  was 
natural,  was  inevitable.  I  should  have  steeled  myself  more 
against  it ;  but  I  am  now  resigned  :  we  must  part ;  you  love 
Julie — that  too  is  natural — and  she  loves  you  :  ah !  what 
also  more  in  the  probable  course  of  events  ?  Julie  loves  you, 
not  yet,  perhaps,  so  much  as  I  did,  but  then  she  has  not  known 
you  as  I  have,  and  she  whose  whole  life  has  been  triumph, 
cannot  feel  the  gratitude  I  felt  at  fancying  myself  loved  ;  but 
this  will  come — God  grant  it !  Farewell,  then,  for  ever,  dear 
Eugene  ;  I  leave  you  when  you  no  longer  want  me  ;  you  are 
now  independent  of  Lucille  ;  wherever  you  go,  a  thousand 
hereafter  can  supply  my  place  ; — farewell !  " 

She  rose,  as  she  said  this,  to  leave  the  room  ;  but  St. 
Amand  seizing  her  hand,  which  she  in  vain  endeavored  to 
withdraw  from  his  clasp,  poured  forth  incoherently,  passion- 
ately, his  reproaches  on  himself,  his  eloquent  persuasions 
against  her  resolution. 

"  I  confess,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  been  allured  for  a 
moment ;  I  confess  that  Julie's  beauty  made  me  less  sensible 
to  your  stronger,your  holier,  oh !  far.  far  holier  title  to  my  love  ! 
But  forgive  me,  dearest  Lucille  ;  already  I  return  to  you,  to 
all  I  once  felt  for  you  ;  make  me  not  curse  the  blessing  of 
sight  that  I  owe  to  you.  You  m.ust  not  leave  me  ;  never  can 
we  two  part ;  try  me,  only  try  me,  and  if  ever,  hereafter,  my 
heart  wander  from  you,  then,  Lucille,  leave  me  to  my  re- 
morse !  " 

Even  at  that  moment  Lucille  did  not  yield  :  she  felt  that 
his  prayer  was  but  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour  ;  she  felt  that 
there  was  a  virtue  in  her  pride  ;  that  to  leave  him  was  a  duty 
to  herself.  In  vain  he  pleaded  ;  in  vain  were  his  embraces, 
his  prayers  ;  in  vain  he  reminded  her  of  their  plighted  troth, 
of  her  aged  parents,  whose  happiness  had  become  wrapt  in 
her  union  with  him  :  "  How, — even  were  it  as  you  wrongly  be- 
lieve,— how,  in  honor  to  them,  can  I  desert  you,  can  I  wed 
another  ? " 

"Trust  that,  trust  all,  to  me,"  answered  Lucille  :  "your 
honor  shall  be  my  care,  none  shall  blame  you :  only  do  not 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  41 

let  your  marriage  with  Julie  be  celebrated  here  before  their 
eyes  :  that  is  all  I  ask,  all  they  can  expect.  God  bless  you  ! 
do  not  fancy  I  shall  be  unhappy,  for  whatever  happiness  the 
world  gives  you,  shall  I  not  have  contributed  to  bestow  it  ? — 
and  with  that  thought,  I  am  above  compassion." 

She  glided  from  his  arms,  and  left  him  to  a  solitude  more 
bitter  even  than  that  of  blindness  ;  that  very  night  Lucille 
sought  her  mother;  to  her  she  confided  all.  I  pass  over  the 
reasons  she  urged,  the  arguments  she  overcame  ;  she  con- 
quered rather  than  convinced,  and  leaving  to  Madame  le  Tis- 
seur  the  painful  task  of  breaking  to  her  father  her  unalterable 
resolution,  she  quitted  Mah'nes  the  next  morning,  and  with  a 
heart  too  honest  to  be  utterly  without  comfort,  paid  that  vish 
to  her  aunt  which  had  been  so  long  deferred. 

The  pride  of  Lucille's  parents  prevented  them  from  re- 
proaching St.  Amand.  He'  could  not  bear,  however,  their 
cold  and  altered  looks  ;  he  left  their  house  ;  and  though  for 
several  days  he  would  not  even  see  Julie,  yet  her  beauty  and 
her  art  gradually  resumed  their  empire  over  him.  They  were 
married  at  Courtroi,  and,  to  the  joy  of  the  vain  Julie,  departed 
to  the  gay  metropolis  of  France.  But,  before  their  departure, 
before  his  marriage,  St.  Amand  endeavored  to  appease  his 
conscience  by  obtaining  for  Monsieur  le  Tisseur  a  much  more 
lucrative  and  honorable  office  than  that  he  now  held.  Rightly 
judging  that  Malines  could  no  longer  be  a  pleasant  residence 
for  them,  and  much  less  for  Lucille,  the  duties  of  the  post 
were  to  be  fulfilled  in  another  town  ;  and  knowing  that  Mon- 
sieur le  Tisseur's  delicacy  would  revolt  at  receiving  such  a 
favor  from  his  hands,  he  kept  the  nature  of  his  negotiation  a 
close  secret,  and  suffered  the  honest  citizen  to  believe  that 
his  own  merits  alone  had  entitled  him  to  so  unexpected  a  pro- 
motion. 

Time  went  on.  This  quiet  and  simple  history  of  humble 
affections  took  its  date  in  a  stormy  epoch  of  the  world — the 
dawning  Revolution  of  France.  The  family  of  Lucille  had 
been  little  more  than  a  year  settled  in  their  new  residence, 
when  Dumouriez  led  his  army  into  the  Netherlands.  But 
how  meanwhile,  had  that  year  passed  for  Lucille  ?  I  have 
said  that  her  spirit  was  naturally  high  ;  that,  though  so  tender, 
she  was  not  weak  ;  her  very  pilgrimage  to  Cologne  alone, 
and  at  the  timid  age  of  seventeen,  proved  that  there  was  a 
strength  in  her  nature  no  less  than  a  devotion  in  her  love, 
The  sacrifice  she  had  made  brought  its  own  reward.  She 
believed  St.  Amand  was  happy,  and  she  would  not  give  was 


42 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


to  the  selfishness  of  grief ;  she  had  still  duties  to  perform  ; 
she  could  still  comfort  her  parents  and  cheer  their  age  ;  she 
could  still  be  all  the  world  to  them  :  she  felt  this,  and  was 
consoled.  Only  once  during  the  year  had  she  heard  of  Julie  ; 
she  had  been  seen  by  a  mutual  friend  at  Paris,  gay,  brilliant, 
courted,  and  admired ;  of  St.  Amand  she  heard  nothing. 

My  tale,  dear  Gertrude,  does  not  lead  me  through  the 
harsh  scenes  of  war.  I  do  not  tell  you  of  the  slaughter  and 
the  siege,  and  the  blood  that  inundated  those  fair  lands — the 
great  battle-field  of  Europe.  The  people  of  the  Netherlands 
in  general  were  with  the  cause  of  Dumouriez  ;  but  the  town 
in  which  Le  Tisseur  dwelt  offered  some  faint  resistance  to 
his  arms.  Le  Tisseur  himself,  despite  his  age,  girded  on  his 
sword ;  the  town  was  carried,  and  the  fierce  and  licentious 
troops  of  the  conqueror  poured,  flushed  with  their  easy  vic- 
tor}'-, through  its  streets.  Le  Tisseur's  house  was  filled  with 
drunken  and  rude  troopers  ;  Lucille  herself  trembled  in  the 
fierce  grip  of  one  of  those  dissolute  soldiers,  more  bandit 
than  soldier,  whom  the  subtle  Dumouriez  had  united  to  his 
army,  and  by  whose  blood  he  so  often  saved  that  of  his  no- 
bler band.  Her  shrieks,  her  cries  were  vain,  when  suddenly 
the  troopers  gave  way ;  "  the  Captain  !  brave  Captain  !  "  was 
shouted  forth  ;  the  insolent  soldier,  felled  by  a  powerful  arm, 
sank  senseless  at  the  feet  of  Lucille  ;  and  a  glorious  form, 
towering  above  its  fellows — even  through  its  glittering  garb, 
even  in  that  dreadful  hour,  remembered  at  a  glance  by 
Lucille,  stood  at  her  side  ;  her  protector — her  guardian  ! 
Thus  once  more  she  beheld  St.  Amand ! 

The  house  was  cleared  in  an  instant — the  door  barred. 
Shouts,  groans,  wild  snatches  of  exciting  song,  the  clang  of 
arms,  the  tramp  of  horses,  the  hurr}'ing  footsteps,  the  deep 
music,  sounded  loud,  and  blended  terribly  without.  Lucille 
heard  them  not ;  she  was  on  that  breast  which  never  sliould 
have  deserted  her. 

Effectually  to  protect  his  friends,  St.  Amand  took  up  his 
quarters  at  their  house ;  and  for  two  days  he  was  once  more 
under  the  same  roof  as  Lucille.  He  never  recurred  volun- 
tarily to  Julie  ;  he  answered  Lucille's  timid  inquiry  after  her 
health  briefly,  and  with  coldness  ;  but  he  spoke,  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  long-pent  and  ardent  spirit,  of  the  new  pro- 
fession he  had  embraced.  Glory  seemed  now  to  be  his  only 
mistress  ;  and  the  vivid  delusion  of  the  first  bright  dreams  of 
the  Revolution  filled  his  mind,  broke  from  his  tongue,  and 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  43 

lighted  up  those  dark  eyes  which  Lucille  had  redeemed  to- 
day. 

She  saw  him  depart  at  the  head  of  his  troop  ;  she  saw 
his  proud  crest  glancing  in  the  sun  ;  she  saw  his  steed  wind- 
ing through  the  narrow  street ;  she  saw  that  his  last  glance 
reverted  to  her,  where  she  stood  at  the  door  ;  and,  as  he 
waved  his  adieu,  she  fancied  that  there  was  on  his  face  that 
look  of  deep  and  grateful  tenderness,  which  reminded  her  of 
the  one  bright  epoch  of  her  life. 

She  was  right.  St.  Amand  had  long  since  in  bitterness 
repented  of  a  tra»nsient  infatuation,  had  long  since  distin- 
guished the  true  Florimel  from  the  false,  and  felt  that,  in 
Julie,  Lucille's  wrongs  were  avenged.  But  in  the  hurry  and 
heat  of  war  he  plunged  that  regret — the  keenest  of  all — • 
which  embodies  the  bitter  words,  "  too  late." 

Years  passed  away  ;  and,  in  the  resumed  tranquillity  of 
Lucille's  life,  the  brilliant  apparition  of  St.  Amand  appeared 
as  something  dreamed  of,  not  seen.  The  star  of  Napoleon 
had  risen  above  the  horizon  ;  the  romance  of  his  early  career 
had  commenced  ;  and  the  campaign  of  Egypt  had  been  the 
herald  of  those  brilliant  and  meteoric  successes  which  flashed 
forth  from  the  ^loom  of  the  Revolution  of  France. 

You  are  aware,  dear  Gertrude,  how  many  in  the  French 
as  well  as  the  English  troops  returned  home  from  Egypt 
blinded  with  the  ophthalmia  of  that  arid  soil.  Some  of  the 
young  men  in  Lucille's  town,  who  had  joined  Napoleon's 
army,  came  back  darkened  by  that  fearful  afifliction ;  and 
Lucille's  alms,  and  Lucille's  aid,  and  Lucille's  sweet  voice, 
were  ever  at  hand  for  those  poor  sufferers,  whose  common 
misfortune  touched  so  thrilling  a  chord  of  her  heart. 

Her  father  was  now  dead,  and  she  had  only  her  mother 
to  cheer  amidst  the  ills  of  age.  As  one  evening  they  sat  at 
work  together,  Madame  le  Tisseur  said,  after  a  pause — 

"  I  wish,  dear  Lucille,  thou  couldst  be  persuaded  to 
many  Justin  ;  he  loves  thee  well ;  and  now  that  thou  art  yet 
young,  and  hast  many  years  before  thee,  thou  shouldst  re- 
member that  when  I  die  thou  wilt  be  alone." 

"  Ah,  cease,  dearest  mother,  I  never  can  marry  now ;  and 
as  for  love — once  taught  in  the  bitter  school  in  which  I  have 
learned  the  knowledge  of  myself — I  cannot  be  deceived 
again." 

"  My  Lucille,  you  do  not  know  yourself :  never  was 
woman  loved  if  Justin  does  not  love  you ;  and  never  did 
lover  feel  with  more  real  warmth  how  worthily  he  loved." 


44  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

And  this  was  true  ;  and  not  of  Justin  alone,  for  Lucille's 
modest  virtues,  her  kindly  temper,  and  a  certain  undulating 
and  feminine  grace,  which  accompanied  all  her  movements, 
had  secured  her  as  many  conquests  as  if  she  had  been  beau- 
tiful. ■  She  had  rejected  all  offers  of  marriage  with  a  shud- 
der ;  without  even  the  throb  of  a  flattered  vanity.  One 
memory,  sadder,  was  also  dearer  to  her  than  all  things  ;  and 
something  sacred  in  its  recollections  made  her  deem  it  even 
a  crime  to  think  of  effacing  the  past  by  a  new  affection. 

"  I  believe,"  continued  Madame  le  Tisseur,  angrily,  "  that 
thou  still  thinkest  fondly  of  him,  from  whom  only  in  the  world 
thou  couldst  have  experienced  ingratitude." 

"  Nay,  mother,"  said  Lucille,  with  a  blush  and  a  slight 
sigh,  "  Eugene  is  married  to  another." 

While  thus  conversing,  they  heard  a  gentle  and  timid 
knock  at  the  door — the  latch  was  lifted.  "  This,"  said  the 
rough  voice  of  a  commissionaire  of  the  town,  "  this,  monsieur, 
is  the  house  of  AIada?)ie  le  Tisseur  and  voild  mademoiselle!^'' 
A  tall  figure,  with  a  shade  over  his  eyes,  and  wrapped  in  a 
long  military  cloak,  stood  in  the  room.  A  thrill  shot  acros? 
Lucille's  heart.  He  stretched  out  his  arms.  "  Lucille,' 
said  that  melancholy  voice,  which  had  made  the  music  of  her 
first  youth, — "  where  art  thou,  Lucille  !  Alas  !  she  does  not 
recognize  St.  Amand." 

Thus  it  was,  indeed.  By  a  singular  fatality,  the  burning 
suns  and  the  sharp  dust  of  the  plains  of  Egypt  had  smitten 
the  young  soldier,  in  the  flush  of  his  career,  with  a  second — ■ 
and  this  time  with  an  irremediable — blindness  !  He  had  re- 
turned to  France  to  find  his  heart  lonely  :  Julie  was  no  more 
— a  sudden  fever  had  cut  her  off  in  the  midst  of  youth  ;  and 
he  had  sought  his  way  to  Lucille's  house,  to  see  if  one 
hope  yet  remained  to  him  in  the  world ! 

And  when,  days  afterwards,  humbly  and  sadly  he  re-urged 
a  fonner  suit,  did  Lucille  shut  her  heart  to  its  prayer  ?  Did 
her  pride  remember  its  wound — did  she  revert  to  his  deser- 
tion— did  she  reply  to  the  whisper  of  her  yearning  love, 
'■'■  Thou  hast  been  before  forsaken  !^^  That  voice,  and  those 
darkened  eyes,  pleaded  to  her  with  a  pathos  not  to  be  re- 
sisted. "  I  am  once  more  necessarj^  to  him,"  was  all  her 
thought.  "  If  I  reject  him,  who  will  tend  him  ?  "  In  that 
thought  was  the  motive  of  her  conduct ;  in  that  thought 
gushed  back  upon  her  soul  all  the  springs  of  checked,  but 
unconquered,   unconquerable   love !      In  that    thought,  she 


HE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  45 

Stood  beside  him  at  the  altar,  and  pledged,  with  a  yet  hoher 
devotion  than  she  might  have  felt  of  yore,  the  vow  of  her 
imperishable  truth. 

And  Lucille  found,  in  the  future,  a  reward  which  the  com- 
mon world  could  never  comprehend.  With  his  blindness  re- 
turned all  the  feelings  she  had  first  awakened  in  St.  Amand's 
solitary  heart ;  again  he  yearned  for  her  step — again  he 
missed  even  a  moment's  absence  from  his  side — again  her 
voice  chased  the  shadow  from  his  brow — and  in  her  presence 
was  a  sense  of  shelter  and  of  sunshine.  He  no  longer  sighed 
for  the  blessing  he  had  lost ;  he  reconciled  himself  to  fate, 
and  entered  into  that  serenity  of  mood  which  mostly  charac- 
terizes the  blind.  Perhaps  after  we  have  seen  the  actual 
world,  and  experienced  its  hollow  pleasures,  we  can  resign 
ourselves  the  better  to  its  exclusion  ;  and  as  the  cloister, 
which  repels  the  ardor  of  our  hope,  is  sweet  to  our  remem- 
brance, so  the  darkness  loses  its  terror,  when  experience  has 
wearied  us  with  the  glare  and  travail  of  the  day.  It  was 
something,  too,  as  they  advanced  in  life,  to  feel  the  chains 
that  bound  him  to  Lucille  strengthening  daily,  and  to  cherish 
in  his  overflowing  heart  the  sweetness  of  increasing  grati- 
nide ;  it  was  something  that  he  could  not  see  years  wrinkle 
that  open  brow,  or  dim  the  tenderness  of  that  touching  smile ; 
it  was  something  that  to  him  she  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
time,  and  preserved  to  the  verge  of  a  grave  (which  received 
them  both  within  a  few  days  of  each  other)  in  all  the  bloom 
of  her  unwithering  affection — in  all  the  freshness  of  a  heart 
that  never  could  grow  old  ! 

Gertrude,  who  had  broken  in  upon  Trevelvan's  story  by  a 
thousand  anxious  interruptions,  and  a  thousand  pretty  apol- 
ogies for  interrupting,  was  charmed  with  a  tale  in  which  true 
love  was  made  happy  at  last,  although  she  did  not  forgive 
St.  Amand  his  ingratitude,  and  although  she  declared,  with  a 
critical  shake  of  the  head,  that  "  it  was  very  unnatural  that 
the  mere  beauty  of  Julie,  or  the  mere  want  of  it  in  Lucille, 
should  have  produced  such  an  effect  upon  him,  if  he  had 
ever  really  loved  Lucille  in  his  blindness." 

As  they  passed  through  Malines,  the  town  assumed  an 
interest  in  Gertrude's  eyes,  to  which  it  scarcely  of  itself  was 
entitled.  She  looked  wistfully  at  the  broad  market-place,  at 
a  corner  of  which  was  one  of  those  out-of-door  groups  of 
quiet  and  noiseless  revellers,  which  Dutch  art  has  raised 
from  the  Familiar  to  the  Picturesque;  and  then,  glancing  to 


46  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  tower  of  St.  Rembauld,  she  fancied,  amidst  the  silence  <A 
noon,  that  she  yet  heard  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  blind  or 
phan — "  Fido,  Fido,  why  hast  thou  deserted  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

Rotterdam. — The  character  of  tlie  Dutch. — Their  resemblance  to  the 
Germans. — A  dispute  between  Vane  and  Trevylyan,  after  the  manner 
of  the  ancient  novelists,  as  to  which  is  preferable,  the  life  of  action  or 
the  life  of  repose. —  Trevylyan's  contrast  between  literary  ambition 
and  the  ambition  of  public  life. 

Our  travellers  arrived  at  Rotterdam  on  a  bright  and 
sunny  day.  There  is  a  cheerfulness  about  the  operations  of 
commerce — a  life — a  bustle — an  action  which  always  exhil- 
arate the  spirits  at  the  first  glance.  Afterwards  they  fatigue 
us  ;  we  get  too  soon  behind  the  scenes,  and  find  the  base  and 
troublous  passions  which  move  the  puppets  and  conduct  the 
drama. 

But  Gertrude,  in  whom  ill  health  had  not  destroyed  the 
vividness  of  impression  that  belongs  to  the  inexperienced, 
was  delighted  at  the  cheeriness  of  all  around  her.  As  she 
leaned  lighdy  on  Trevylyan's  arm,  he  listened  with  a  forget- 
ful joy  to  her  questions  and  exclamations  at  the  stir  and  live- 
liness of  a  city,  from  which  was  to  commence  their  pilgrim- 
asre  along  the  Rliine.  And  indeed  the  scene  was  rife  with 
the  spirit  of  that  people  at  once  so  active  and  so  patient — so 
daring  on  the  sea — so  cautious  on  the  land.  Industry  was 
visible  everywhere,  the  vessels  in  the  harbor — the  crowded 
boat,  putting  off  to  land — the  throng  on  the  quay,  all  looked 
bustling  and  spoke  of  commerce.  The  city  itself,  on  which 
the  skies  shone  fairly  through  light  and  fleecy  clouds,  wore  a 
cheerful  aspect.  The  church  of  St.  Lawrence  rising  above 
the  clean,  neat  houses,  and  on  one  side,  trees  thickly 
grouped,  gayly  contrasted  at  once  the  waters  and  the  city, 

"  I  like  this  place,"  said  Gertrude's  father,  quietly  ;  "  it 
has  an  air  of  comfort. 

"  And  an  absence  of  grandeur,"  said  Trevylyan. 

"  A  commercial  people  are  one  great  middle  class  in  their 
habits  and  train  of  mind,"  replied  Vane ;  "  and  grandeui 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


47 


belongs  to  the  extremes, — an  impoverished  population,  and  a 
wealthy  despot." 

They  went  to  see  the  statue  of  Erasmus,  and  the  house  n 
which  he  was  born.  Vane  had  a  certain  admiration  for 
Erasmus,  which  his  companions  did  not  share  ;  he  liked  the 
quiet  irony  of  the  sage,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  world ;  and, 
besides,  Vane  was  of  that  time  of  life  wiien  philosophers  be- 
come objects  of  interest.  At  first  they  are  teachers  ;  secondly, 
friends  ;  and  it  is  only  a  few  who  arrive  at  the  third  stage, 
and  find  them  deceivers.  The  Dutch  are  a  singular  people. 
Their  literature  is  neglected,  but  it  has  some  of  the  German 
vein  in  its  strata, — the  patience,  the  learning,  the  homely 
delineation,  and  even  some  traces  of  the  mixture  of  the  hu- 
morous and  the  terrible,  which  form  that  genius  for  the  gro- 
tesque so  especially  German, — you  find  this  in  their  legends 
and  ghost-stories.  But  in  Holland  activity  destroys,  in  Ger- 
many indolence  nourishes,  romance. 

They  stayed  a  day  or  two  at  Rotterdam,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded up  the  Rhine  to  Gorcum.  The  banks  were  flat  and 
tame,  and  nothing  could  be  less  impressive  of  its  native  ma- 
jesty than  this  part  of  the  course  of  the  great  River. 

"  I  never  felt  before,"  whispered  Gertrude,tenderly,  "  how 
much  there  was  of  consolation  in  your  presence  ;  for  here  I 
am  at  last  on  the  Rhine — the  blue  Rhine,  and  how  disap- 
pointed I  should  be  if  you  were  not  by  my  side  !  " 

"  But,  my  Gertrude,  you  must  wait  till  we  have  passed 
Cologne,  before  the  glories  of  the  Rhine  burst  upon  you." 

"  It  reverses  life,  my  child,"  said  the  moralizing  Vane  , 
"  and  the  stream  flows  through  dulness  at  first,  reserving  its 
poetry  for  our  perseverance." 

"  I  will  not  allow  your  doctrine,"  said  Trev)'lyan,  as  the 
ambitious  ardor  of  his  native  disposition  stirred  within  him. 
"  Life  has  always  action  ;  it  is  our  own  fault  if  it  ever  be  dull : 
youth  has  its  enterprise,  manhood  its  schemes  ;  and  even  if 
infirmity  creep  upon  age,  the  mind,  the  mind  still  triumphs 
over  the  mortal  clay,and  in  the  quiet  hermitage,  among  books, 
and  from  thoughts,  keeps  the  great  wheel  within  everlastingly 
m  motion.  No,  the  better  class  of  spirits  have  always  an 
antidote  to  the  insipidity  of  a  common  career,  they  have  ever 
energy  at  will-^ — " 

"  And  never  happiness  !  "  answered  Vane,  after  a  pause, 
as  he  gazed  on  the  proud  countenance  of  Trevylyan,  with  that 
kind  of  calm,  half-pitying  interest  which  belonged  to  a  char 
acter  deeply  imbued  with  the  philosophy  of  a  sad  experienccj 


48  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

acting  upon  an  unimpassioned  heart.  "  And  in  truth,  Tre- 
vylyan,  it  would  please  me  if  I  could  but  teach  you  the  folly 
of  preferring  the  exercise  of  that  energy,  of  which  you  speak, 
to  the  golden  luxuries  of  rest.  What  ambition  can  ever  bring 
an  adequate  reward  t  Not,  surely,  the  ambition  of  letters — • 
the  desire  of  intellectual  renown  !  " 

"  True,"  said  Trevylyan  quietly  ;  "  that  dream  I  have  long 
renounced  ;  there  is  nothing  palpable  in  literary  fame — it 
scarcely  perhaps  soothes  the  vain — it  assuredly  chafes  the 
proud.  In  my  earlier  years  I  attempted  some  works,  which 
gained  what  the  world,  perhaps  rightly,  deemed  a  sufficient 
meed  of  reputation  ;  yet  it  was  not  sufficient  to  recompense 
myself  for  the  fresh  hours  I  had  consumed,  for  the  sacrifices 
of  pleasure  I  had  made.  The  subtle  aims  that  had  inspired 
me  were  not  perceived  ;  the  thoughts  that  had  seemed  new 
and  beautiful  to  me,  fell  fiat  and  lustreless  on  the  soul  of 
others.  If  I  was  approved,  it  was  often  for  what  I  condemned 
myself  !  and  I  found  that  the  trite  commonplace  and  the 
false  wit  charmed,  while  the  truth  fatigued,  and  the  enthusiasm 
revolted.  For  men  of  that  genius  to  which  I  make  no  preten- 
sion, who  have  dwelt  apart  in  the  obscurity  of  their  own 
thoughts,  gazing  upon  stars  that  shine  not  for  tlie  dull  sleepers 
of  the  world,  it  must  be  a  keen  sting  to  find  the  product  of 
their  labor  confounded  with  a  class,  and  to  be  mingled  up  in 
men's  judgment  with  the  faults  or  merits  of  a  tribe.  Every 
great  genius  must  deem  himself  original  and  alone  in  his  con- 
ceptions. It  is  not  enough  for  him  that  these  coni;eplions 
should  be  approved  as  good,  unless  they  are  admitted  as  in- 
ventive, if  they  mix  him  with  the  herd  he  has  shunned,  not 
separate  him  in  fame  as  he  has  been  separated  in  soul.  Some 
Frenchman,  the  oracle  of  his  circle,  said  of  the  poet  of  the 
Ph^dre,  "  Racine  and  the  other  imitators  of  Corneille  ;  "  and 
Racine,  in  his  wrath,  nearly  forswore  tragedy  for  ever.  It  is 
in  vain  to  tell  the  author  that  the  public  is  the  judge  of  his 
works.  The  author  believes  himself  above  the  public,  or  he 
would  never  have  written,  and,"  continued  Trevylyan,  with 
enthusiasm,  "  he  is  above  them  ;  their  fiat  may  crush  his 
glory,  but  never  his  self-esteem.  He  stands  alone  and 
haughty  amidst  the  wrecks  of  the  temple  he  had  imagined  he 
had  raised  '  to  the  future,'  and  retaliates  neglect  with  scorn. 
But  is  this,  the  life  of  scorn,  a  pleasurable  state  of  existence  / 
Is  it  one  to  be  cherished .?  Does  even  the  moment  of  famt 
counterbalance  the  years  of  mortification  ?  And  what  is  there 
in  literary  fame  itself  present  and  palpable  to  its  heir  .?     His 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  49 

work  is  a  pebble  thrown  into  the  deep  ;  the  stir  lasts  for  a 
moment,  and  the  wave  closes  up,  to  be  susceptible  no  more 
to  the  same  impression.  The  circle  may  widen  to  other  lands 
and  other  ages,  but  around  him  it  is  weak  and  faint.  The 
trifles  of  the  day,  the  low  politics,  the  base  intrigues,  occupy 
the  tongue,  and  fill  the  thought  of  his  contemporaries  ;  he  is 
less  known  than  a  mountebank,  or  a  new  dancer ;  his  glorji 
comes  not  home  to  him  ;  it  brings  no  present,  no  perpetual 
reward,  like  the  applauses  that  wait  the  actor,  or  the  actor- 
like mummer  of  the  senate  ;  and  this  which  vexes,  also  lowers 
him  ;  his  noble  nature  begins  to  nourish  the  base  vices  of 
jealousy,  and  the  unwillingness  to  admire.  Goldsmith  is  for- 
gotten in  the  presence  of  a  puppet ;  he  feels  it,  and  is  mean  ; 
he  expresses  it,  and  is  ludicrous.  It  is  well  to  say  that  great 
minds  will  not  stoop  to  jealousy ;  in  the  greatest  minds  it  is 
most  frequent.*  Few  authors  are  ever  so  aware  of  the 
admiration  they  excite,  as  to  afford  to  be  generous ;  and  this 
melancholy  truth  revolts  us  with  our  own  ambition.  Shall 
we  be  demigods  in  our  closet,  at  the  price  of  sinking  below 
mortality  in  the  world  t  No  !  it  was  from  this  deep  senti- 
ment of  the  unrealness  of  literary  fame,  of  dissatisfaction  at 
the  fruits  it  produced,  of  fear  for  the  meanness  it  engendered, 
that  I  resigned  betimes  all  love  for  its  career  ;  and  if  by  the 
restless  desire  that  haunts  men  who  think  much,  to  write  ever, 
I  should  be  urged  hereafter  to  literature,  I  will  sternly  teach 
myself  to  persevere  in  the  indifference  to  its  fame." 

"  You  say  as  I  would  say,"  answered  Vane,  with  his  tran- 
quil- smile  ;  "  and  your  experience  corroborates  my  theory. 
Ambition,  then,  is  not  the  root  of  happiness.  Why  more  in 
action  than  in  letters  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Trevylyan,  "  in  action  we  commonly  gain 
in  our  life  all  the  honor  we  deserve  ;  the  public  judge  of  men 
better  and  more  rapidly  than  of  books.  And  he  wlio  takes 
to  h'mself  in  action  a  high  and  pure  ambition,  associates  it 
with  so  many  objects,  that,  unlike  literature,  the  failure  of 
one  is  balanced  by  the  success  of  the  other.  He,  the  creator 
of  deeds,  not  resembling  the  creator  of  books,  stands  not 
alone  ;  he  is  eminently  social ;  he  has  many  comrades,  and 
without  their  aid  he  could  not  accomplish  his  designs.     This 

*  See  the  long  list  of  names  furnished  by  D'Tsraeli,  in  that  most  ex- 
quisite work,  "  The  Literary  Character,"  vol.  ii.  p.  76.  Plato,  Zenophon, 
Chaucer,  Corneille,  Voltaire,  Dryden,  the  Caracci,  Domenico  Vcnetiano, 
murdered  by  his  envious  friend,  and  the  gentle  Castillo  fainting  away  at 
the  genius  of  Murillo. 


50  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

divides  and  mitigates  the  impatient  jealousy  against  others. 
He  works  for  a  cause,  and  knows  early  that  he  cannot 
monopolize  its  whole  glory ;  he  shares  what  he  is  aware  it  is 
impossible  to  engross.  Besides,  action  leaves  him  no  time 
for  brooding  over  disappointment.  The  author  has  consumed 
his  youth  in  a  work — it  fails  in  glor}^  Can  he  write  another 
work  }  Bid  him  call  back  another  youth  !  But  in  action  the 
labor  of  the  mind  is  from  day  to  day.  A  week  replaces  what 
a  week  has  lost,  and  all  the  aspirant's  fame  is  of  the  present. 
It  is  lipped  by  the  Babel  of  the  living  world  ;  he  is  ever  on 
the  stage,  and  the  spectators  are  ever  ready  to  applaud. 
Thus  perpetually  in  the  service  of  others,  self  ceases  to  be 
his  world  ;  he  has  no  leisure  to  brood  over  real  or  imaginary 
wrongs,  the  excitement  whirls  on  the  machine  till  it  is  worn 
out " 

"  And  kicked  aside,"  said  Vane,  "  with  the  broken  lumber 
of  men's  other  tools,  in  the  chamber  of  their  sons'  forgetful- 
ness.  Your  man  of  action  lasts  but  for  an  hour  ;  the  man  of 
letters  lasts  for  ages."     • 

"We  live  not  for  ages,"  answered  Trev}4yan  ;  "our  life 
is  on  earth,  and  not  in  the  grave." 

"But  even  grant,"  continued  Vane,  "audi  for  one  will 
concede  the  point,  that  posthumous  fame  is  not  worth  the 
living  agonies  that  obtain  it,  how  are  you  better  off  in  your 
poor  and  vulgar  career  of  action  ?  Would  you  assist  the 
rulers  ? — servility  !  The  people  ? — folly !  If  you  take  the 
great  philosophical  view  which  the  worshippers  of  the  past 
rarely  take,  but  which,  unknown  to  them,  is  their  sole 
excuse,  viz.  that  the  changes  which  7nay  benefit  the  future 
unsettle  the  present ;  and  that  it  is  not  the  wisdom  of 
practical  legislation  to  risk  the  peace  of  our  contemporaries 
in  the  hope  of  obtaining  happiness  for  their  posterity — to 
what  suspicion,  to  what  charges  are  you  exposed  !  You  are 
deemed  the  foe  of  all  liberal  opinion,  and  you  read  your 
curses  in  the  eyes  of  a  nation.  But  take  the  side  of  the 
people.  What  caprice — what  ingratitude  You  have  pro- 
fessed so  much  in  theory,  that  you  can  never  accomplish 
sufficient  in  practice.  Moderation  becomes  a  crime  ;  to  be 
prudent  is  to  be  perfidious.  New  demagogues,  without 
temperance,  because  without  principle,  outstrip  you  in  the 
moment  of  your  greatest  services.  The  public  is  the  grave 
of  a  great  man's  deeds  ;  it  is  never  sated ;  its  maw  is  eternally 
open  ;  it  perpetually  craves  for  more.  Where,  in  the  history 
of  the  world,  do  you  find  the  gratitude  of  a  people  ?     You 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KIIIXE.  ^i 

find  fervor,  it  is  true,  but  not  gratitude  ;  the  fervor  that  ex- 
aggerates a  benefit  at  one  moment,  but  not  the  gratitude 
that  remembers  it  the  next  year.  Once  disappoint  them, 
and  all  your  actions,  all  your  sacrifices  are  swept  from  their 
remembrance  forever ;  they  break  the  windows  of  the  very 
house  they  have  given  you,  and  melt  down  their  medals  into 
bullets.  Who  serves  man,  ruler  or  peasant,  serves  the  ungrate- 
ful ;  and  all  the  ambitious  are  but  types  of  a  Wolsey  or  a  De 
Witt." 

"  And  what,"  said  Trevylyan,  "  consoles  a  man  in  the 
ills  that  fiesh  is  heir  to,  in  that  state  of  obscure  repose,  that 
serene  inactivity  to  which  you  would  confine  him  ?  Is  it  not 
his  self-acquittal,  or  his  self-approval .-"  " 

"  Doubtless,"  replifed  Vane. 

"  Be  it  so,"  answered  the  high-souled  Tre\7lyan  ;  "  the 
same  consolation  awaits  us  in  action  as  in  repose.  We 
sedulously  pursue  what  we  deem  to  be  true  glory.  We  are 
maligned  :  but  our  soul  acquits  us.  Could  it  do  more  in  the 
scandal  and  the  prejudice  that  assail  us  in  private  life .-'  You 
are  silent ;  but  note  how  much  deeper  should  be  the  comfort, 
how  much  loftier  the  self-esteem ;  for  if  calumny  attack  us 
in  a  wilful  obscurity,  what  have  we  done  to  refute  the  cal- 
umny ?  How  have  we  served  our  species  ?  Have  we  '  scorned 
delight  and  loved  laborious  day  t '  Have  we  made  the 
utmost  of  the  '  talent'  confided  to  our  care  .^  Have  we  done 
those  deeds  to  our  race  upon  which  we  can  retire, — an'  Estate 
of  Beneficence,'  — from  the  malice  of  the  world,  and  feel 
that  our  deeds  are  our  defenders  .-*  This  is  the  consolation 
of  virtuous  actions  ;  is  it  so  of — even  a  virtuous — indolence  t  " 

"  You  speak  as  a  preacher,"  said  Vane  ;  "  I  merely  as 
a  calculator.     You  of  virtue  in  affliction,  I  of  a  life  in  ease." 

"  Well,  then,  if  the  consciousness  of  perpetual  endeavor 
to  advance  our  race  be  not  alone  happier  than  the  life  of 
ease,  let  us  see  what  this  vaunted  ease  really  is.  Tell  me, 
is  it  not  another  name  for  ennui?  This  state  of  quiescence, 
this  objectless,  dreamless  torpor,  this  transition  dti  lit  a  la 
table,  de  la  table  au  lit ;  what  more  dreary  and  monotonous 
existence  can  you  devise  ?  Is  it  pleasure  in  this  inglorious 
existence  to  think  that  you  are  serving  pleasure  ?  Is  it  free- 
dom to  be  the  slave  to  self  ?  For  I  hold,"  continued 
Trevylyan,  "  that  this  jargon  of  '  consulting  happiness,'  this 
cant  of  living  for  ourselves,  is  but  a  mean,  as  well  as  a  false 
philosophy.  Why  this  eternal  reference,  to  self  ?  Is  self 
lone  to  be  consulted  t     Is  even  our  happiness,  did  it   truly 


52 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


consist  in  repose,  really  the  great  end  of  life  ?  I  doubt  if  we 
cannot  ascend  higher.  I  doubt  if  we  cannot  say  with  a  great 
moralist.  *  If  virtue  be  not  estimable  in  itself,  we  can  see 
nothing  estimable  in  following  it  for  the  sake  of  a  bargain." 
But,  in  fact,  repose  is  the  poorest  of  all  delusions  ;  the  very  act 
of  recurring  to  self,  brings  about  us  all  those  ills  of  self  from 
which,  in  the  turnoil  of  the  world,  we  can  escape.  We 
become  hypochondriacs.  Our  very  health  grows  an  object 
of  painful  possession.  We  are  so  desirous  to  be  well  (  for 
what  is  retirement  without  health  }  ),  that  we  are  ever  fancy- 
ing ourselves  ill ;  and,  like  the  man  in  the  Spectator.,  we  weigh 
ourselves  daily,  and  live  but  by  grains  and  scruples.  Retire- 
ment is  happy  only  for  the  poet,  for  to  him  it  is  ;/<?/ retirement. 
He  secedes  from  one  world  but  to  gain  another,  and  he  finds 
not  ennui  in  seclusion  :  why — not  because  seclusion  hath 
repose^  but  because  it  hath  occupatmi.  In  one  word,  then,  I 
say  of  action  and  of  indolence,  grant  the  same  ills  to  both, 
and  to  action  there  is  the  readier  escape  or  the  nobler 
consolation." 

Vane  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  Ah,    my   dear  friend, 
said  he,  tapping  his   snuff-box  with  benevolent  superiority, 
"  you  are  much  younger  than  I  am  !  " 

But  these  conversations,  which  Trevylyan  and  Vane  often 
held  together,  dull  as  I  fear  this  specimen  must  seem  to  the 
reader,  had  an  inexpressible  charm  for  Gertrude.  She  loved 
the  lofty  and  generous  vein  of  philosophy  which  Trevylyan 
embraced,  and  which,  while  it  suited  his  ardent  nature, 
contrasted  a  demeanor  commonly  hard  and  cold  to  all  but 
herself.  And,  young  and  tender  as  she  was,  his  ambition  in- 
fused its  spirit  into  her  fine  imagination,  and  that  passion 
for  enterprise  which  belongs  inseparately  to  romance.  She 
loved  to  muse  over  his  future  lot,  and  in  fancy  to  share  its 
toils  and  to  exult  in  its  triumphs.  And  if  sometimes  she 
asked  herself  whether  a  career  of  action  might  not  estrange 
him  from  her,  she  had  but  to  turn  her  gaze  upon  his  watchful 
eye, — and  lo,  he  was  by  her  side  or  at  her  feet  1 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RJIINE.  53 


CHAPTER  VI. 
Corcum. — The  Tour  of  the  Virtues  :  A  Philosopher's  Tale 

It  was  a  bright  and  cheery  morning  as  they  glided  by 
Gorcum.  The  boats  pulHng  to  tlie  shore  full  of  fishermen 
and  peasants  in  their  national  costume  ;  the  breeze  freshly  rip- 
pling the  waters  ;  the  lightness  of  the  blue  sky  ;  the  loud 
and  laughing  voices  from  the  boats  ; — all  contributed  to  raise 
the  spirit,  and  fill  it  with  that  indescribable  gladness  which  is 
the  physical  sense  of  life. 

The  tower  of  the  church,  with  its  long  windows  and  its 
round  dial,  rose  against  the  clear  sky  :  and  on  a  bench  under 
a  green  bush  facing  the  water  sat  a  jolly  Hollander,  refresh- 
ing the  breezes  with  the  fumes  of  his  national  weed. 

"  How  little  it  requires  to  make  a  journey  pleasant,  when 
the  companions  are  our  friends  !"  said  Gertrude,  as  they  sailed 
along.  "  Nothing  can  be  duller  than  these  banks  ;  nothing 
more  delightful  than  this  voyage." 

"  Yet  what  tries  the  affections  of  people  for  each  other  so 
severely  as  a  journey  together  ?"  said  Vane.  "  That  perpetual 
companionship  from  which  there  is  no  escaping  ;  that  confine- 
ment, in  all  our  moments  of  ill-humor  and  listlessness,  with 
persons  who  want  us  to  look  amused. — Ah,  it  is  a  severe 
ordeal  for  friendship  to  pass  through  !  A  post-chaise  must 
have  jolted  many  an  intimacy  to  death." 

"  You  speak  feelingly,  dear  father,"  said  Gertrude,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  and,  I  suspect,  with  a  slight  desire  to  be  sarcastic  upon 
us.  Yet,  seriously,  I  should  think  that  travel  must  belike  life, 
and  that  good  persons  must  be  always  agreeable  companions 
to  each  other," 

"  Good  persons,  my  Gertrude  I  "  answered  Vane,  with  a 
smile.  "  Alas  !  I  fear  the  good,  weary  each  other  quite  as 
much  as  the  bad.  What  say  you,  Trevylyan, — would  Virtue 
be  a  pleasant  companion  from  Paris  to  Petersburgh  1  Ah,  I  see 
you  intend  to  be  on  Gertrude's  side  of  the  question.  Well 
now,  if  I  tell  you  a  story,  since  stories  are  so  much  the  fashion 
with  you,  in  which  you  shall  find  that  the  Virtues  themselves 


lA 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


actually  made  the  experiment  of  a  tour,  will  you  promise  t<? 
attend  to  the  moral?'' 

"  Oh,  dear  father,  anything  for  a  story,"  cried  Gertrude; 
"  especially  from  you,  who  have  not  told  us  one  all  the  way. 
Come,  listen,  Albert  ;  nay,  listen  to  your    new  rival." 

And  pleased  to  see  the  vivacity  of  the  invalid.  Vane,  be- 
gan as  follows  : — 

The  Tour  of  the  Virtues  :  a  Philosopher'' s  Tale. 

Once  upon  a  time,  several  of  the  Virtues,  weary  of  living 
for  ever  with  the  Bishop  of  Norwich,  resolved  to  make  a 
little  excursion  ;  accordingly,  though  they  knew  everything  on 
earth  was  very  ill  prepared  to  receive  them,  they  thought  they 
might  safely  venture  on  a  tour  from  Westminster-bridge  to 
Richmond  :  the  day  was  fine  and  the  wind  in  their  favor,  and 
as  to  entertainment, — there  seemed,  according  to  Gertrude  to 
be  no  possibility  of    any  disagreement  among  the  Virtues. 

They  took  a  boat  at  Westminster-stairs,  and  just  as  they 
were  about  to  push  off,  a  poor  woman,  all  in  rags,  with  a 
child  in  her  arms,  i^uplored  their  compassion.  Charity  put 
her  hand  into  her  reticule,  and  took  out  a  shilling.  Justice, 
turning  round  to  look  after  the  luggage,  saw  the  folly  which 
Charity  was  about  to  commit.  "  Heavens  !"  cried  Justice, 
seizing  poor  Charity  by  the  arm,  "  what  are  you  doing  ? 
Have  you  never  read  Political  Economy  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  indiscriminate  almsgiving  is  only  the  encouragement  to 
Idleness,  the  mother  of  Vice  ?  You  a  Virtue,  indeed  ! — I'm 
ashamed  of  you.  Get  along  with  you,  good  woman  ; — yet 
stay,  there  is  a  ticket  for  soup  at  the  Mendicity  Society  : 
they'll  see  if  you  are  a  proper  object  of  compassion.  But 
Charity  is  quicker  than  Justice,  and  slipping  her  hand  behind 
her,  the  poor  woman  got  the  shilling  and  the  ticket  for  soup 
too.  Economy  and  Generosity  saw  the  double  gift.  "  What 
waste!"  cried  Economy,  frowning;  "what,  a  ticket  and 
a  shilling  ! — either  would  have  sufficed." 

"  Either !  ''  said  Generosity  ;  "  fie  !  Charity  should  have 
given  the  poor  creature  half-a-cro\vn,  and  Justice  a  dozen 
tickets  !  "  So  the  next  ten  minutes  were  consumed  in  a 
quarrel  between  the  four  Virtues,  which  would  have  lasted 
all  the  way  to  Richmond,  if  Courage  had  not  ad\  ised  them 
to  get  on  shore  and  light  it  out.  Upon  this,  the  Virtues  sud 
dealy  perceived  they  had  a  little  forgotten  themselves,  and 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE, 


55 


Generosity  ofTering  the   first  apology,  they  made  it  up,  and 
went  on  very  agreeably  for  the  next  mile  or  two. 

The  day  now  grew  a  little  overcast,  and  a  shower  seemed  at 
hand.  Prudence,  who  had  on  a  new  bonnet,  suggested  the 
propriety  of  putting  to  shore  for  half  an  hour ;  Courage  was 
for  braving  the  rain  ;  but,  as  most  of  the  Virtues  are  ladies, 
Prudence  carried  it.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  land,  another 
boat  cut  in  before  them  very  uncivilly,  and  gave  theirs -such 
a  shake,  that  Charity  was  all  but  overboard.  The  company 
on  board  the  uncivil  boat,  who  evidently  thought  the  Virtues 
extremely  low  persons,  for  they  had  nothing  very  fashionable 
about  their  exterior,  burst  out  laughing  at  Charity's  discom- 
posure, especially  as  a  large  basket  full  of  buns,  which 
Charity  carried  with  her  for  any  hungry-looking  children  she 
might  encounter  at  Richmond,  fell  pounce  into  the  water. 
Courage  was  all  on  fire  ;  he  twisted  his  moustache,  and  would 
have  made  an  onset  on  the  enemy,  if,  to  his  great  indignation 
Meekness  had  not  forstalled  him,  by  stepping  mildly  into  the 
hostile  boat  and  offering  both  cheeks  to  the  foe.  This  was 
too  much  even  for  the  incivility  of  the  boatmen  ;  they  made 
their  excuses  to  the  Virtues  ;  and  Courage,  who  is  no  bully, 
thought  himself  bound  discontentedly  to  accept  them.  But 
oh  !  if  you  had  seen  how  Courage  used  Meekness  afterwards, 
you  could  not  have  believed  it  possible  that  one  Virtue  could 
be  so  enraged  with  another  !  This  quarrel  between  the  two 
threw  a  damp  on  the  party  ;  and  they  proceeded  on  their 
voyage,  when  the  shower  was  over,  with  anything  but  cor- 
diality. I  spare  j'ou  the  little  squabbles  that  took  place  in 
the  general  conversation — how  Fxonomy  found  fault  with  all 
the  villas  by  the  way  ;  and  Temperance  expressed  becoming 
indignation  at  the  luxuries  of  the  City  barge.  They  arrived 
at  Richmond,  and  Temperance  was  appointed  to  order  the 
dinner ;  meanwhile  Hospitality,  walking  in  the  garden,  fell 
in  with  a  large  party  of  Irishmen,  and  asked  them  to  join  the 
repast. 

Imagine  the  long  faces  of  Economy  and  Prudence,  when 
they  saw  the  addition  to  the  company.  Hospitality  was  all 
spirits  ;  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  called  for  champagne  with 
the  tone  of  a  younger  brother.  Temperance  soon  grew  scan- 
dalized, and  Modesty  herself  colored  at  some  of  the  jokes  ; 
but  Hospitality,  who  was  now  half-seas  over,  called  the  one  a 
milksop,  and  swore  at  the  other  as  a  prude.  Away  went  the 
hours ;  it  was  time  to  return,  and  they  made  down  to  the 
water-side,  thoroughly  out  of  temper  with  one  another,  Ecoiv 


^6  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

omy  and  Generosity  quarrelling  all  the  way  about  the  bili 
and  the  waiters.  To  make  up  the  sum  of  their  mortirication_ 
they  passed  a  boat  where  all  the  company  were  in  the  best 
possible  spirits,  laughing  and  whooping  like  mad  ;  and  dis- 
covered these  jolly  companions  to  be  two  or  three  agreeable 
Vices,  who  had  put  themselves  under  the  management  ol 
Good  Temper.  So  you  see,  Gertrude,  that  even  the  Virtues 
may  fall  at  loggerheads  with  each  other,  and  pass  a  very  sad 
time  of  it,  if  they  happen  to  be  of  opposite  dispositions,  and 
have  forgotten  to  take  Good  Temper  along  with  them." 

"Ah!"  said  Gertrude,  "but  you  have  over-loaded  your 
boat ;  too  many  Virtues  might  contradict  one  another,  but 
not  a  few." 

"  Voila  ce  que  je  vcnx  dire,'"  said  Vane,  "  But  listen  to  the 
sequel  of  my  tale,  which  now  takes  a  new  moral." 

At  the  end  of  the  voyage,  and  after  a  long,  sulky  silence, 
Prudence  said,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  "  My  dear  friends,  I 
have  been  thinking  that  as  long  as  we  keep  so  entirely  to- 
gether, never  mixing  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  we  shall  waste 
our  lives  in  quarrelling  among  ourselves,  and  run  the  risk  of 
being  still  less  liked  and  sought  after  than  we  already  are.  You 
know  that  we  are  none  of  us  popular ;  everyone  is  quite  con- 
tented to  see  us  represented  in  a  vaudeville,  or  described  in 
an  essay.  Charity,  indeed,  has  her  name  often  taken  in  vain 
at  a  bazaar,  or  a  subscription  ;  and  the  miser  as  often  talks 
of  the  duty  he  owes  to  me,  when  he  sends  the  stranger  from 
his  door,  or  his  grandson  to  gaol  :  but  still  we  only  resemble 
so  many  wild  beasts,  whom  everybody  likes  to  see,  but  no- 
body cares  to  possess,  Now,  I  propose  that  we  should  all 
separate  and  take  up  our  abode  with  some  mortal  or  other 
for  a  year,  with  the  power  of  changing  at  the  end  of  that  time 
should  we  not  feel  ourselves  comfortable  ;  that  is,  should  we 
not  find  that  we  do  all  the  good  we  intend  :  let  us  try  the  ex- 
periment, and  on  this  day  twelvemonth  let  us  all  meet,  under 
the  laigest  oak  in  Windsor  Forest,  and  recount  what  has  be- 
fallen us."  Prudence  ceased,  as  she  always  does  when  she 
has  said  enough  ;  and,  delighted  at  the  project,  the  Virtues 
asireed  to  adopt  it  on  the  spot.  They  were  enchanted  at  the 
id  a  of  setting  up  for  themselves,  and  each  not  doubting  his 
or  her  success  ;  for  Economy,  in  her  heart,  thought  Generos- 
ity no  Virtue  at  all,  and  Meekness  looked  on  Courage  as 
little  better  than  a  heathen. 

Generosity,  being  the  most  eager  and  active  of  all  the  Vir- 
tues, set  off  first  on  his  journey.     Justice  followed,  and  kept 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


57 


up  with  him,  though  at  a  more  even  pace.  Charity  never 
heard  a  sigh,  or  saw  a  squalid  face,  but  she  stayed  to  cheer 
and  console  the  sufferer — a  kindness  which  somewhat  retarded 
her  progress. 

Courage  espied  a  travelling-carriage,  with  a  man  and  his 
wife  in  it  quarrelling  most  conjugally,  and  he  civilly  begged 
he  might  be  permitted  to  occupy  the  vacant  seat  opposite  the 
lady.  Economy  still  lingered,  inquiring  for  the  cheapest  inns. 
Poor  Modesty  looked  round  and  sighed,  on  finding  herself  so 
near  London,  where  she  was  almost  unknown ;  but  resolved 
to  bend  her  course  thither,  for  two  reasons,  first,  for  the  nov- 
elty of  the  thing  ;  and,  secondly,  not  liking  to  expose  her- 
self to  any  risks  by  a  journey  on  the  Continent.  Prudence, 
though  the  first  to  project,  was  the  last  to  execute  ;  and  there- 
fore resolved  to  remain  where  she  was  for  that  night,  and 
take  daylight  for  her  travels. 

The  year  rolled  on,  and  the  Virtues,  punctual  to  the  ap- 
pointment, met  under  the  oak-tree  ;  they  all  came  nearly  at 
the  same  time,  excepting  Economy,  who  had  got  into  a  return 
post-chaise,  the  horses  to  which,  having  been  forty  miles  in 
the  course  of  the  morning,  had  foundered  by  the  way,  and 
retarded  her  journey  till  tiight  set  in.  The  Virtues  looked 
sad  and  sorrowful,  as  people  are  wont  to  do  after  a  long  and 
fruitless  journey ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  such  was  the  wear- 
ing effect  of  their  intercourse  with  the  world,  that  they  ap- 
peared wonderfully  diminished  in  size. 

"  Ah  I  my  dear  Generosity,"  said  Prudence,  with  a  sigh, 
"  as  you  were  the  first  to  set  out  on  your  travels,  pray  let  us 
hear  your  adventures  first." 

"  You  must  know,  my  dear  sisters,"  said  Generosity,  "  that 
I  had  not  gone  many  miles  from  you  before  I  came  to  a  small 
country  town,  in  which  a  marching  regiment  was  quartered  ; 
and  at  an  open  window  I  beheld,  leaning  over  a  gentleman's 
chair,  the  most  beautiful  creature  imagination  ever  pictured  ; 
her  eyes  shone  out  like  two  suns  of  perfect  happiness,  and 
she  was  almost  cheerful  enough  to  have  passed  for  Good 
Temper  herself.  The  gentleman  over  whose  chair  she  leaned, 
was  her  husband  ;  they  had  been  married  six  weeks  ;  he  was 
a  lieutenant  with  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  besides  his  pay 
Greatly  affected  by  their  poverty,  I  instantly  determined, 
■without  a  second  thought,  to  ensconce  myself  in  the  heart  ot 
this  channing  girl.  During  the  first  hour  in  my  new  residence 
I  made  many  wise  reflections,  such  as — Love  never  was  so 
perfect  as  when  accompanied  by  Poverty  ;  what  a  vulgar  er 


5 8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIA'E. 

ror  it  was  to  call  the  unmarried  state  *  Single  Blessedness  !  ' 
how  wrong  it  was  of  us  Virtues  never  to  have  tried  the  mar 
riage  -bond  ;  and  what  a  falsehood  it  was  to  say  that  Iiiis 
bands  neglected  their  wives,  for  never  was  there  anything  in 
nature  so  devoted  as  the  love  of  a  husband — six  weeks  mar- 
ried! 

"  The  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  as  the  charming 
Fanny  was  waiting  for  her  husband,  who  had  not  yet  fin- 
ished his  toilette,  a  poor,  wretched-looking  object  appeared 
at  the  window,  tearing  her  hair  and  wringing  her  hands ; 
her  husband  had  that  morning  been  dragged  to  prison, 
and  her  seven  children  had  fought  for  the  last  mouldly  crust. 
Prompted  by  me,  Fanny,  without  inquiring  further  into  the 
matter,  drew  from  her  silken  purse  a  five-pound  note,  and 
gave  it  to  the  beggar,  who  departed  more  amazed  than  grate- 
ful.    Soon  after  tlie  lieutenant  appeared; — '  What  the  d 1 

another  bill ! '  muttered  he,  as  he  tore  the  yellow  wafer  from 
a  large,  square,  folded,  bluish  piece  of  paper.  '  Oh,  ah  ! 
confound  the  fellow,  he  must  be  paid.  I  must  trouble  you, 
Fanny,  for  fifteen  pounds  to  pay  this  saddler's  bill.' 

"  '  Fifteen  pounds,  love  ? '  stammered  Fanny,  blushing. 

"  '  Yes,  dearest,  tlie  fifteen  poimds  I  gave  you  yesterday.' 

"  '  I  have  only  ten  pounds,'  said  Fanny,  hesitatingly,  '  for 
such  a  poor  wretched-looking  creature  was  here  just  now, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  give  her  five  pounds.' 

"  '  Five  pounds .-"  good  Heavens  !  '  exclaimed  the  aston- 
ished husband ;  '  I  shall  have  no  more  money  these  three 
weeks.'  He  frowned,  he  bit  his  lips,  nay  he  even  wrung  his 
hands,  ana  \valked  up  and  down  the  room  ;  worse  .still,  he 
broke  forth — '  Surely,  madam,  you  did  not  suppose,  when 
you  married  a  lieutenant  in  a  marching  regiment,  that  he 
could  afford  to  indulge  in  the  whim  of  giving  five  pounds  to 
every  mendicant  who  held  out  her  hand  to  you .''  You  did 
not,  I  say  mad.am,  imagine,'  but  the  bridegroom  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  convulsive  sobs  of  his  wife  :  it  was  their  first 
quarrel,  they  were  but  six  weeks  married ;  he  looked  at 
her  for  one  moment  sternly,  the  next  he  was  at  her  feet. 
■  Forgive  me,  dearest  Fanny ;  forgive  me,  for  I  cannot  for- 
give myself.  I  was  too  great  a  wretch  to  say  what  I  did ; 
and  do  believe,  my  own  Fanny,  that  while  I  may  be  too  poor  to 
indulge  you  in  it,  I  do  from  my  heart  admire  so  noble,  so 
disinterested,  a  generosity.'  Not  a  little  proud  did  I  feel  to 
have  been  the  cause  of  this  exemplary  husband's  admiraf'on 
for  his  amiable  wife,  and  sincerely   did  I  rejoice  at   having 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  TJ/E  RHINE.  59 

taken  up  my  abode  with  these /^^ir  people.  But  not  to  tire 
you  my  dear  sisters,  with  the  minutioe  of  detail,  I  sliall 
briefly  say  that  things  did  not  long  remain  in  this  delight- 
ful position;  for,  before  many  months  had  elapsed,  poor 
Fanny  had  to  bear  with  her  husband's  increased  and  more 
frequent  storms  of  passion,  unfollovved  by  any  halcyon  and 
honeymoon  suings  for  forgiveness ;  for  at  my  instigation 
every  shilling  went;  and  when  there  were  no  more  to 
go,  her  trinkets,  and  even  her  clothes  followed.  The 
lieutenant  became  a  complete  brute,  and  even  allowed  his 
unbridled  tongue  to  call  me — me,  sisters,  me! — heartless 
Extravagance."  His  despicable  brother-othcers,  and  their 
gossiping  wives,  were  no  better;  for  they  did  nothing 
but  animadvert  upon  my  Fanny's  ostentation  and  absur- 
dity, for  by  such  names  had  they  the  impertinence  to  call  me. 
Thus  grieved  to  the  soul  to  find  myself  the  cause  of  all  my 
poor  Fanny's  misfortunes,  I  resolved  at  the  end  of  the  year 
to  leave  her,  being  thoroughly  convinced,  that,  however  ami- 
able and  praiseworthy  I  might  be  in  myself,  1  was  totally  un- 
fit to  be  bosom  friend  and  ad^'iser  to  the  wife  of  a  lieutenant 
in  a  marching  regiment,  with  only  a  hundred  pounds  a  year 
besides  his  pay." 

The  Virtues  groaned  their  sympathy  with  the  unfortunate 
Fanny  :  and  Prudence,  turning  to  Justice,  said,  "  1  long  to 
near  what  you  have  been  doing,  for  I  am  certain  you  cannot 
have  occasioned  harm  to  any  one." 

Justice  shook  her  head  and  said,  "  Alas  !  I  find  that  there 
are  times  and  places  when  even  I  do  better  not  to  appear,  as 
a  short  account  of  my  adventures  will  prove  to  you.  No 
sooner  had  I  left  you  than  I  instantly  repaired  to  India, 
and  took  up  my  abode  with  a  Brahmin.  I  was  much  shocked 
by  the  dreadful  inequalities  of  condition  that  reigned  in  the 
several  castes,  and  I  longed  to  relieve  the  poor  Pariah  from 
his  ignominious  destiny ;  accordingly  I  set  seriously  to  work 
on  reform.  I  insisted  upon  the  iniquity  of  abandoning  men 
from  their  birth  to  an  irremediable  state  of  contemi.i,  from 
which  no  virtue  could  exalt  them.  The  Brahmins  looked  upon 
my  Brahmin  with  ineffable  horror.  They  called  me  the  most 
wicked  of  vices  ;  they  saw  no  distinction  between  Justice  and 
Atheism.     I  uprooted  their  society — that  was  sufficient  crime. 

"  But  the  worst  was,  that  the  Pariahs  themselves  regarded 
me  with  suspicion ;  they  thought  it  unnatural  in  a  Brahmin 
to  care  for  a  Pariah  !  And  one  called  me  '  Madness  ; '  an 
other,  '  Ambition  ; '  and   a  third,  '  The  Desire  to  innovate. 


6o  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KIII.XE. 

My  poor  Brahmin  led  a  miserable  life  of  it ;  when  one  day 
after  observing,  at  my  dictation,  that  he  thought  a  Pariah's 
life  as  much  entitled  to  respect  as  a  cow's,  he  was  hurried 
away  by  the  priests  and  secretly  broiled  on  the  altar,  as  a 
fitting  reward  for  his  sacrilege.  I  tied  hither  in  great  tribu- 
lation, persuaded  that  in  some  countries  even  Justice  may  do 
harm." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Charity,  not  waiting  to  be  asked,  "  I 
gr_eve  to  say  that  I  was  silly  enough  to  take  up  my  abode 
with  an  old  lady  in  Dublin,  who  never  knew  what  discretion 
was,  and  always  acted  from  impulse  ;  my  instigation  was  ir- 
resistible, and  the  money  she  gave  in  her  drives  through  the 
suburbs  of  Dublin  was  so  lavishly  spent,  that  it  kept  all  the 
rascals  of  the  city  in  idleness  and  whiskey.  I  found,  to  my 
great  horror,  that  I  was  a  main  cause  of  a  terrible  epi- 
demic, and  that  to  give  alms  without  discretion  was  to  spread 
poverty  without  help.  I  left  the  city  when  my  year  was  out, 
and,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  just  at  the  time  when  I  was 
most  wanted." 

"  And,  oh  !  "  cried  Hospitalit}',  "  I  went  to  Ireland  also. 
I  fixed  my  abode  with  a  squireen  ;  I  ruined  him  in  a  year, 
and  only  left  him  because  he  had  no  longer  a  hovel  to  keep 
me  in." 

"  As  for  myself,"  said  Temperance,  "  I  entered  the  breast 
of  an  English  legislator,  and  he  brought  in  a  bill  against  ale- 
houses ;  the  consequence  was,  that  the  laborers  took  to  gin, 
and  I  have  been  forced  to  confess,  that  Temperance  may  be 
too  zealous  when  she  dictates  too  vehemently  to  others." 

"  Well,"  said  Courage,  keeping  more  in  the  background 
than  he  had  ever  done  before,  and  looking  rather  ashamed 
of  himself,  "  that  travelling  carriage  I  got  into  belonged  to  a 
German  general  and  his  wife,  who  were  returning  to  their 
own  country.  Growing  very  cold  as  we  proceeded,  she 
wrapped  me  up  in  ?i  polonaise ;  but  the  cold  increasing,  I  in- 
advertently crept  into  her  bosom  ;  once  there  I  could  not  get 
out,  and  from  thenceforward  the  poor  general  had  considera- 
bly the  worst  of  it.  She  became  so  provoking,  that  I  won- 
dered how  he  could  refrain  from  an  explosion.  To  do  him 
justice,  he  did  at  last  threaten  to  get  out  of  the  carriage  ; 
upon  which,  roused  by  me,  she  collared  him — and  conquered. 
When  he  got  to  his  own  district,  things  grew  worse,  for  if  any 
aide-de-camp  offended  her,  she  insisted  that  he  might  be 
publicly  reprimanded  ;  and  should  the  poor  general  refuse, 
she  would  with  her  own  hands  confer  a  caning  upon  the  do 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIME.  6i 

linqiient.  The  additional  force  she  had  gained  in  me  was 
too  much  odds  against  the  poor  general,  and  he  died  of  a 
broken  heart,  six  months  after  my  liaison  with  his  wife.  She 
after  this  became  so  dreaded  and  detested,  that  a  conspiracy 
was  formed  to  poison  her  ;  this  daunted  even  me,  so  I  left  her 
without  delay — et  me  void/''' 

"  Humph !  "  said  Meekness,  with  an  air  of  triumph  ;  "  I, 
at  least,  have  been  more  successful  than  you.  On  seeing 
much  in  the  papers  of  the  cruelties  practised  by  the  Turks 
on  the  Greeks,  I  thought  my  presence  would  enable  the  poor 
sufferers  to  bear  their  misfortunes  calmly.  I  went  to  Greece, 
then,  at  a  moment  when  a  well-planned  and  practicable 
scheme  of  emancipating  themselves  from  the  Turkish  yoke 
was  arousing  their  youth.  Without  confining  myself  to  one 
individual,  I  flitted  from  breast  to  breast  ;  I  meekened  the 
whole  nation  ;  my  remonstrances  against  the  insurrection 
succeeded,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  leaving  a  whole  peo- 
ple ready  to  be  killed,  or  strangled,  with  the  most  Christian 
resignation  in  the  world." 

The  Virtues,  who  had  been  a  little  cheered  by  the  open- 
ing self-complacency  of  Meekness,  would  not,  to  her  great 
astonishment,  allow  that  she  had  succeeded  a  whit  more  hap- 
pily than  her  sisters,  and  called  next  upon  Modesty  for  her 
confession. 

"  You  know,"  said  the  amiable  young  lady,  "  that  I  went 
to  London  in  search  of  a  situation.  I  spent  three  months  of 
the  twelve  in  going  from  house  to  house,  but  I  could  not  get 
a  single  person  to  receive  me.  The  ladies  declared  they 
never  saw  so  old-fashioned  a  gawky,  and  civilly  recommended 
me  to  their  abigails ;  the  abigails  turned  me  round  with  a 
stare,  a;id  then  pushed  me  down  to  the  kitchen  and  the  fat 
scullion-maids  ;  who  assured  me,  that  '  in  the  respectable 
families  they  had  the  honor  to  live  in,  they  had  never  even 
heard  of  my  name.'  One  young  housemaid,  just  from  the 
country,  did  indeed  receive  me  with  some  sort  of  civility  ;  but 
she  very  soon  lost  me  in  the  servants'  hall.  I  now  took 
refuge  with  the  other  sex,  as  the  least  uncourteous.  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  a  young  gentleman  of  remarkable 
talents,  who  welcomed  me  with  open  arms.  He  was  full  oi 
learning,  gentleness,  and  honesty.  I  had  only  one  rival — 
Ambition.  We  both  contended  for  an  absolute  empire  ovei 
him.  Whatever  Ambition  suggested,  I  damped.  Did  Am- 
bition urge  him  to  begin  a  book,  I  persuaded  him  it  was  not 
worth  publication.     Did  he  get  up,  full  of  knowledge,  and 


62  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

instigated  by  my  rival  to  make  a  speech  (for  he  was  in  par 
liament),  I  shocked  him  with  the  sense  of  his  assurance — I 
made  his  voice  droop  and  his  accents  falter.  At  last,  with 
an  indignant  sigh,  my  rival  left  him  ;  lie  retired  into  the 
countr}',  took  orders,  and  renounced  a  career  he  had  fondly 
hoped  would  be  serviceable  to  others  ;  but  finding  I  did  not 
suffice  for  his  happiness,  and  piqued  at  his  melancholy,  I  left 
him  before  the  end  of  the  year,  and  he  has  since  taken  to 
drinking ! " 

I'he  eyes  of  the  Virtues  were  all  turned  to  Prudence.  She 
was  their  last  hope — "I  am  just  where  I  set  out,"  said  that 
discreet  Virtue  :  "  1  have  done  neither  good  nor  harm.  To 
avoid  temptation,  I  went  and  lived  with  a  hermit,  to  whom  1 
soon  found  that  I  could  be  of  no  use  beyond  warning  him 
not  to  overboil  his  peas  and  lentils,  not  to  leave  his  door 
open  when  a  storm  threatened,  and  not  to  frll  his  pitcher  too 
full  at  the  neighboring  spring.  I  am  thus  the  only  one  of 
you  that  never  did  harm;  but  only  because  I  am  the  only 
one  of  you  that  never  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  it !  In  a 
word,"  continued  Prudence,  thoughtfully, — "  in  a  word,  my 
friends,  circumstances  are  necessary  to  the  Virtues  them- 
selves. Had,  for  instance.  Economy  changed  with  Generosity, 
and  gone  to  the  poor  lieutenant's  wife,  and  had  I  lodged 
with  the  Irish  squireen  instead  of  Hospitality,  what  misfor- 
tunes would  have  been  saved  to  both  !  Alas  !  I  perceive  we 
lose  all  our  efficacy  when  we  are  misplaced  ;  and  theti^  though 
in  reality  Virtues,  we  operate  as  Vices.  Circumstances  must 
be  favorable  to  our  exertions,  and  harmonious  with  our 
nature  ;  and  we  lose  our  very  divinity  unless  Wisdom  direct 
our  footsteps  to  the  home  we  should  inhabit,  and  the  disposi- 
tions we  should  govern." 

The  story  was  ended,  and  the  travellers  began  to  dispute 
about  its  moral.     Here  let  us  leave  them. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  63 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Cologne. — The  trace  of  the  Roman  Yoke. — The  Church  of  St.  Maria. — 
Trevylyan's  reflections  on  the  Monastic  Life. — The  Tomb  of  the  Three 
Kings  — An  Evening  Excursion  on  the  Rhine. 

Rome — magnificent  Rome  !  wherever  the  pilgrim  wends, 
the  traces  of  thy  dominion  greet  his  eyes.  Still,  in  the  heart 
of  the  bold  German  race,  is  graven  the  print  of  the  eagle's 
claws  ;  and  amidst  the  haunted  regions  of  the  Rhine  we  pause 
to  wonder  at  the  great  monuments  of  the  Italian  yoke. 

At  Cologne  our  travellers  rested  for  some  days.  They 
were  in  the  city  to  which  the  camp  of  Marcus  Agrippa  had  given 
birth  :  that  spot  had  resounded  with  the  armed  tread  of  the 
legions  of  Trajan.  In  that  city,  Vitellius,  Sylvanus,  were  pro- 
claimed emperors.  By  that  church,  did  the  latter  receive  his 
death. 

As  they  passed  round  the  door,  they  saw  some  peasants 
loitering  on  the  sacred  ground  ;  and  when  they  noted  the 
delicate  cheek  of  Gertrude,  they  uttered  their  salutations 
with  more  than  common  respect.  Where  they  then  were,  the 
building  swept  round  in  a  circular  form  ;  and  at  its  base  it 
is  supposed,  by  tradition,  to  retain  something  of  the  ancient 
Roman  masonry.  Just  before  them  rose  the  spire  of  a  plain 
and  unadorned  church — singularly  contrasting  the  pomp  of 
the  old,  with  the  simplicity  of  the  innovating,  creed. 

The  church  of  St.  Maria  occupies  the  site  of  the  Roman 
Capitol  ;  and  the  place  retains  the  Roman  name  ;  and  still 
something  in  the  aspect  of  the  people  betrays  the  hereditary 
blood. 

Gertrude,  whose  nature  was  strongly  impressed  with  the 
venerating  character,  was  fond  of  visiting  the  old  Gothic 
churches,  which,  with  so  eloquent  a  moral,  unite  the  living 
with  the  dead. 

"  Pause  for  a  moment,"  said  Trevylyan,  before  they  en- 
tered the  church  of  St,  Mary.  "  What  recollections  crowd 
upon  us  !  On  the  site  of  the  Roman  Capitol,  a  Christian 
church  and  a  convent  are  erected  !  By  whom  1  The  mothei 
of  Charles  Martel — the  conqueror  of  the  Saracen — the  arch- 
hero  of  Christendom  itself !     And  to  these  scenes  and  calm 


64  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHEVE. 

retreats,  to  the  cloisters  of  the  convent  once  belonging  to  this 
church,  fled  the  bruised  spirit  of  a  royal  sufferer — the  victim 
of  Richelieu — the  unfortunate  and  ambitious  Mary  de  Medicis. 
Alas  !  the  cell  and  the  convent  are  but  a  vain  emblem  of  thai 
desire  to  fly  to  God  which  belongs  to  Distress  ;  the  solitude 
soothes,  but  the  monotony  recalls,  regret.  And  for  my  own 
part,  in  my  frequent  tours  through  Catholic  countries,  I  nevei 
saw  the  still  walls  in  which  monastic  vanity  hoped  to  shut  out 
the  world,  but  a  melancholy  came  over  me  !  What  hearts  at 
war  with  themselves  ! — what  unceasing  regrets  ! — what  pinings 
after  the  past  ! — what  long  and  beautiful  years  devoted  to  a 
moral  grave,  by  a  momentary  rashness — an  impulse — a  disap- 
pointment !  But  in  these  churches  the  lesson  is  more  impres- 
sive and  less  sad.  The  weary  heart  has  ceased  to  ache — the 
burning  pulses  are  still — the  troubled  spirit  has  flown  to  the 
only  rest  which  is  not  a  deceit.  Power  and  love — hope  and 
fear — avarice — ambition,  they  are  quenched  at  last !  Death 
is  the  only  monastery — the  tomb  is  the  only  cell." 

"  Your  passion  is  ever  for  active  life,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  You  allow  no  charm  to  solitude,  and  contemplation  to  you 
seems  torture.  If  any  great  sorrow  ever  comes  upon  you,  you 
will  never  retire  to  seclusion  as  its  balm.  You  will  plunge 
into  the  world,  and  lose  your  individual  existence  in  the 
universal  rush  of  life." 

"  Ah,  talk  not  of  sorrow !  "  said  Trevylyan,  wildly, — "  let 
us  enter  the  church." 

They  went  afterwards  to  the  celebrated  cathedral,  which 
is  considered  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  architectural  triumphs 
of  Germany  ;  but  it  is  yet  more  worthy  of  notice  from  the 
Pilgrim  of  Romance  that  the  searcher  after  antiquity,  for  here, 
behind  the  grand  altar,  is  the  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of 
Cologne — the  three  worshippers,  whom  tradition  humbled  to 
our  Saviour.  Legend  is  rife  with  a  thousand  tales  of  the  relics 
of  this  tomb.  The  three  Kings  of  Cologne  are  the  tute- 
lary names  of  that  golden  superstition,  which  has  often  more 
votaries  than  the  religion  itself  from  w-hich  it  springs  :  and  to 
Gertrude  the  simple  story  of  Lucille  sufficed  to  make  her  for 
the  moment  credulous  of  the  sanctity  of  the  spot.  Behind 
the  tomb  tlrree  Gothic  windows  cast  their  "  dim,  religious 
light  "  over  the  tesselated  pavement  and  along  the  Ionic 
pillars.  They  found  some  of  the  more  credulous  believers  in 
the  authenticity  of  the  relics  kneeling  before  the  tomb,  and 
they  arrested  their  steps,  fearful  to  disturb  the  superstition 
which  is  never  without  something  of  sanctity  when  contented 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIIh\E.  tf^ 

with  prayer,  and  forgetful  of  persecution.  The  bones  of  the 
Magi  are  still  supposed  to  consecrate  the  tomb,  and  on  the 
higher  part  of  the  monument  the  artist  has  delineated  theii 
adoration  to  the  infant  Saviour. 

That  evening  came  on  with  a  still  and  tranquil  beauty, 
and  as  the  sun  hastened  to  its  close  they  launched  their  boat 
for  an  hour  or  two's  excursion  upon  the  Rhine.  Gertrude 
was  in  that  happy  mood  when  the  quiet  of  nature  is  enjoyed 
like  a  bath  for  the  soul,  and  the  presence  of  him  she  so  idol 
ized,  deepened  that  stillness  into  a  more  delicious  and  subdu- 
ing calm.  Little  did  she  dream  as  the  boat  glided  over  the 
water,  and  the  towers  of  Cologne  rose  in  the  blue  air  of  even 
ing,  how  few  were  those  hours  that  divided  her  from  the 
tomb  !  But,  in  looking  back  to  the  life  of  one  we  have  loved, 
how  dear  is  the  thought  that  the  latter  davs  were  the  davs  of 
light,  that  the  cloud  never  chilled  the  beauty  of  the  setting 
sun,  and  that  if  the  years  of  existence  were  brief,  all  that  ex- 
istence has  most  tender,  most  sacred,  was  crowded  into  that 
space  !  Nothing  dark,  then,  or  bitter,  rests  with  our  remem- 
brance of  the  lost,  we  are  the  mourners,  but  pity  is  not  for 
the  mourned — our  grief  is  purely  selfish  ;  when  we  turn  to  its 
object,  the  hues  of  happiness  are  round  it,  and  that  very  love 
which  is  the  parent  of  our  woe  was  the  consolation — the  tri- 
umph— of  the  departed  ! 

The  majestic  Rhine  was  calm  as  a  lake ;  the  splashing  of 
the  oar  only,  broke  the  stillness,  and  after  a  long  pause  in 
their  conversation,  Gertrude,  putting  her  hand  on  Trevylyan's 
arm,  reminded  him  of  a  promised  story  ;  for  he  too  had  moods 
of  abstraction,  from  which,  in  her  turn,  she  loved  to  lure 
him  ;  and  his  voice  to  her  had  become  a  sort  of  want. 

"  Let  it  be,"  said  she,  "  a  tale  suited  to  the  hour ;  no 
fierce  tradition — nay,  no  grotesque  fable,  but  of  the  tenderer 
dye  of  superstition.  Let  it  be  of  love,  of  woman's  love — of 
the  love  that  defies  the  grave  :  for  surely  even  after  death  it 
lives  ;  and  heaven  would  scarcely  be  heaven  if  memory  were 
banished  from  its  blessing." 

"  I  recollect,"  said  Trevylyan,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  a 
short  German  legend,  the  simplicity  of  which  touched  me 
much  when  I  heard  it ;  but,"  added  he  with  a  slight  smile, 
"  so  much  more  faithful  appears  in  the  legend  the  love  of  the 
woman  than  that  of  the  man,  that  /  at  least  ought  scarcely  to 
recite  it."  , 

"  Nay,"  said  Gertrude  tenderly,  "  the  fault  of  the  incoa- 
stant  only  heightens  our  gratitude  to  the  faithful."  • 


66  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIAE. 


CHAPTER  Vlir. 
The  Soul  in  Purgatory ;  or,  Love  stronger  than  death. 

The  angels  strung  their  harps  m  Heaven,  and  their  music 
went  up  like  a  stream  of  odors  to  the  pavillions  of  the  Most 
High.  But  the  harp  of  Seralim  was  sweeter  than  that  of 
his  fellows,  and  the  Voice  of  the  Invisible  One  (for  the  angels 
themselves  know  not  the  glories  of  Jehovah — only  far  in  the 
depths  of  Heaven  they  see  one  Unsleeping  Eye  watching  for 
ever  over  Creation)  was  heard  saying, — 

"  Ask  a  gift  for  the  love  that  burns  in  thy  song,  and  it 
shall  be  given  thee." 

And  Seralim  answered, — 

"  There  are  in  that  place  which  men  call  Purgator}%  and 
which  is  the  escape  from  Hell,  but  the  painful  porch  of 
Heaven,  many  souls  that  adore  Thee,  and  yet  are  punishec 
justly  for  their  sins  ;  grant  me  the  boon  to  visit  them  at  times, 
and  solace  their  sufferings  by  the  hymns  of  the  harp  that  is 
consecrated  to  thee  !  " 

And  the  Voice  answered, — 

"  Thy  prayer  is  heard,  O  gentlest  of  the  angels  !  and  it 
seems  good  to  Him  who  chastizes  but  from  love.  Go  !  Thou 
hast  thy  will." 

Then  the  an^el  sang  the  praises  of  God  ;  and  when  the 
song  was  done,  he  rose  from  his  azure  throne  at  the  right 
hand  of  Gabriel,  and  spreading  his  rainbow  wings,  he  fiew  to 
that  melancholy  orb  which,  nearest  to  earth,  echoes  with  the 
shrieks  of  souls  that  by  torture  become  pure.  There  the  un- 
happy ones  see  from  afar  the  bright  courts  they  are  hereafter 
to  obtain,  and  the  shapes  of  glorious  beings  who,  fresh  from 
the  Fountains  of  Immortality,  walk  amidst  the  gardens  of 
Paradise,  and  feel  that  their  happiness  hath  no  morrow  ; — 
and  this  thought  consoles  amidst  their  torments,  and  makes 
the  true  difference  between  Purgatory  and  Hell. 

Then  the  angel  folded  his  wings,  and  entering  the  crystal 
gates,  sat  down  upon  a  blasted  rock  and  struck  his  divine 
lyre,  and  a  peace  fell  o\er  the  wretched  ;  the  demon  ceased 
4o  torture,  and  the  victim  to  wail.     As  sleep  to  the  mourners 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  REINE.  67 

of  earth  was  the  song  of  the  angel  to  the  souls  of  the  purify- 
ing star :  one  only  voice  amidst  the  general  stillness  seemed 
not  lulled  by  the  angel ;  it  was  the  voice  of  a  woman,  and  it 
continued  to  cry  out  with  a  sharp  cry, — 

"  Oh,  Adenheim,  Adenheim  !  mourn  not  for  the  lost !  " 

The  angel  struck  chord  af'er  chord,  till  his  most  skilful 
melodies  were  exhausted  ;  but  still  the  solitary  voice,  unheed- 
ing unconscious  of,  the  sweetest  harp  of  the  angel  choir, 
cried  out, — 

"  Oh,  Adenheim,  Adenheim  !  mourn  not  for  the  lost !  " 

Then  Seralim's  interest  was  aroused,  and  approaching 
the  spot  whence  the  voice  cav.ie,  he  saw  the  spirit  of  a  young 
and  beautiful  girl  chained  to  a  rock,  and  the  demons  lying 
idly  by.  And  Seralim  said  to  the  demons,  "  Doth  the  song 
lull  ye  thus  to  rest  ?  " 

And  they  answered,  "  Her  care  for  another  is  bitterer 
than  all  our  torments  ;  therefore  are  we  idle." 

Then  the  angel  approached  the  spirit,  and  said  in  a  voice 
which  stilled  her  cry — for  in  what  state  do  we  outlive  sym- 
pathy ?  "  Wherefore,  O  daughter  of  earth  !  w^herefore  wailcst 
thou' with  the  same  plaintive  wail  ?  and  why  doth  the  harp 
that  soothes  the  most  guilty  of  thy  companions,  fail  in  its 
melody  with  thee  ?  " 

"  Oh,  radiant  stranger,"  answered  the  poor  spirit,  "  thou 
speakest  to  one  who  on  earth  loved  God's  creature  more  than 
God  ;  therefore  is  she  thus  justly  sentenced.  But  I  know 
that  my  poor  Adenheim  mourns  ceaselessly  for  me,  and  the 
thought  of  his  sorrow  is  more  intolerable  to  me  than  all  that 
the  demons  can  inflict." 

"  And  how  knowest  thou  that  he  laments  thee  ?  "  asked 
the  angel. 

"  Because  I  know  with  what  agony T  should  have  mourned 
for  >^/w,"  replied  the  spirit,  simply. 

The  divine  nature  of  the  angel  was  touched ;  for  love  is 
the  nature  of  the  sons  of  heaven.  "  And  how,"  said  he,  "  can 
I  minister  to  thy  sorrow?  !' 

A  transport  seemed  to  agitate  the  spirit,  and  she  lifted  up 
her  mist-like  and  impalpable  arms,  and  cried, — 

"  Give  me — oh,  give  me  to  return  to  earth,  but  for  one 
little  hour,  that  I  may  visit  my  Adenheim";  and  that,  conceal- 
ing from  him  my  present  sufferings,  I  may  comfort  him  in  his 


own." 


"  Alas  !  "  said  the  angel,  turning  away  his  eyes — for  angels 
may  not  weep  in  the  sight  of  others — "  I  could,  indeed,  grant 


68  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

thee  this  boon,  but  thou  knowest  not  the  penalty.  For  the 
souls  in  Purgatory  may  return  to  Earth,  but  heavy  is  the  sen- 
tence that  awaits  their  return.  In  a  word,  for  one  hour  on 
earth,  thou  must  add  a  thousand  years  to  the  tortures  of  thy 
confinement  here  !" 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  cried  the  spirit ;  "  willingly  then  will  I  brave 
the  doom.  Ah,  surely  they  love  not  in  heaven,  or  thou 
wouldst  know,  O  Celestial  Visitant,  that  one  hour  of  conso- 
lation to  the  one  we  love  is  worth  a  thousand  ages  of  torture 
to  ourselves  !  Let  me  comfort  and  convince  my  Adenheim  ; 
no  matter  what  becomes  of  me." 

Then  the  angel  looked  on  high,  and  he  saw  in  far-distant  re- 
gions, which  in  that  orb  none  else  could  discern,  the  rays 
that  parted  from  the  all-guarding  Eye  ;  and  heard  the  Voice 
of  the  Eternal  One  bidding  him  act  as  his  pity  whispered. 
He  looked  on  the  spirit,  and  her  shadowy  arms  stretched 
pleadingly  towards  him  ;  he  uttered  the  word  that  loosened 
the  bars  of  the  gate  of  Purgatory  ;  and  lo,  the  spirit  had  re- 
entered the  human  world. 

It  was  night  in  the  halls  of  the  Lord  of  Adenheim,  and 
he  sat  at  the  head  of  his  glittering  board  ;  loud  and  long  was 
the  laugh,  and  merry  the  jest  that  echoed  round ;  and  the 
laugh  and  the  jest  of  the  Lord  of  Adenheim  were  louder 
and  merrier  than  all. 

And  by  his  right  side  sat  a  beautiful  lady  ;  and  ever  and 
anon  he  turned  from  others  to  whisper  soft  vows  in  her   ear. 

"And  oh,"  said  the  bright  dame  of  Falkenberg,  "thy 
words  what  ladye  can  believe  ? — Didst  thou  not  utter  the 
same  oaths,  and  promise  the  same  love,  to  Ida,  the  fair 
daughter  of  Loden  ;  and  now  but  three  little  months  have 
closed  over  her  grave  ?  " 

"By  my  halidom,"  quoth  the  young  Lord  of  Adenheim, 
"  thou  dost  thy  beauty  marvellous  injustice.  Ida !  Nay,  thou 
mockest  me  ;  /  love  the  daughter  of  Loden  ?  why,  how  then 
should  I  be  worthy  of  thee.''  A  few  gay  words,  a  few  passing 
smiles — behold  all  the  love  Adenheim  ever  bore  to  Ida.  Was 
it  my  fault  if  the  poor  fool  misconstrued  such  common  cour- 
tesy ?     Nay,  dearest  lady,  this  heart  is  virgin  to  thee." 

"  And  what  !  "  said  the  Lady  of  Falkenberg,  as  she  suf 
fered  the  arm  of  Adenheim  to  encircle  her  slender  waist, 
"didst  thou  not  grieve  for  her  loss.-"  " 

"  Why,  verily,  yes,  for  the  first  week  ;  but  in  thy  bright 
eyes  I  found  ready  consolation." 

At  this  moment  the  Lord  of  Adenheim  thought  he  heard 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KHIXE.  69 

a  deep  sigh  behind  him  ■  he  turned,  but  saw  nothing,  save  a 

slight  mist  that  gradually  faded  away,  and  vanished   in  tlie 

distance.     Where  was  the  necessitv  for  Ida  to  reveal  herselt:  ? 
****** 

****** 

"  And  thou  didst  not,  then,  do  thine  errand  to  thy  lover  !  " 
said  Seralim,  as  the  spirit  of  the  wronged  Ida  returned  to 
Purgatory. 

"  Bid  the  demons  recommence  their  torture,"  was  poor 
Ida's  answer. 

"  And  was  it  for  this  that  thou  added  a  thousand  years  to 
thy  doom  ? " 

"  Alas  !  "  answered  Ida,  "  after  the  single  hour  I  have 
endured  on  earth,  there  seems  to  be  but  little  terrible  in  a 
thousand  fresh  years  of  Purgatory."* 

"  What !  is  the  story  ended  ?  "  asked  Gertrude. 

"  Yes." 

"  Nay,  surely  a  thousand  years  were  not  added  to  poor 
Ida's  doom  ;  and  Seralim  bore  her  back  with  him  to 
Heaven  !  " 

"  The  legend  saith  no  more.  The  writer  was  contented 
to  show  us  the  perpetuity  of  woman's  love  ; — 

"And  its  reward,"  added  Vane. 

"  It  was  not  /who  drew  that  last  conclusion,  Albeit," 
whispered  Gertrude. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


The  scenery  of  the  Rhine  analogous  to  the  German  literary  genius. 

— The  Drachcnfels. 

On  leaving  Cologne,  the  stream  winds  round  among 
banks  that  do  not  yet  fufil  the  promise  of  the  Rhine  ;  but 
they  increase  in  interest  as  you  leave  Surdt  and  Godorf.  The 
peculiar  character  of  the  river  does  not,  however,  really  ap- 
pear, until   by   degrees   the    Seven   Mountains,  and  "The 

*This  story  is  principally  borrowed  from  a  foreign  soil.  It  seemed  to 
the  author  worthy  of  being  transferred  to  an  English  one,  although  he 
fears  that  much  of  its  singular  beauty  in  the  original  has  been  lust  by 
the  'A'ay 


70 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  KIIIN'E. 


Castled  Crag  of  Drachenfels  "  above  tliem  all,  break 
upon  the  eye.  Around  Neider  Cassel  and  Rheidt,  the  vuTes 
lie  thick  and  clustering  ;  and,  by  the  shore,  you  see  from 
place  to  place  the  islands  stretching  their  green  length  along, 
and  breaking  the  exulting  tide.  Village  rises  upon  village, 
and  viewed  from  the  distance  as  you  sail,  the  pastoral  errors 
that  enamoured  us  of  the  village  life,  crowd  thick  and  fast 
upon  us.  So  still  do  these  hamlets  seem,  so  sheltered  from 
the  passions  of  the  world  ;  as  if  the  passions  were  not  like 
winds — only  felt  where  they  breathe,  and  invisible  save  by 
their  effects  !  Leaping  into  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Rhine 
come  many  a  stream  and  rivulet  upon  either  side.  Spire 
upon  spire  rises  and  sinks  as  you  sail  on.  Mountain  and 
city — *Jie  solitary  island — the  castled  steep — like  the  dreams 
of  ambinon,  suddenly  appear,  proudly  swell,  and  dimly  fade 
away. 

"You  begin  now," said  Trevylyan  "to  understand  the 
character  of  the  German  literature.  The  Rhine  is  an  em- 
blem of  its  luxuriance,  its  fertility,  its  romance.  The  best 
commentary  to  the  German  genius  is  a  visit  to  the  German 
scenery.  The  mighty  gloom  of  the  Hartz,  the  feudal  towers 
that  look  over  vines  and  deep  valleys  on  the  legendary  Rhine  ; 
the  gigantic  remains  of  antique  power,  profusely  scattered 
over  plain,  mount,  and  forest ;  the  thousand  mixed  recoUect- 
tions  that  hallow  the  ground  ;  the  stately  Roman,  the  stalwart 
Goth,  the  chivalry  of  the  feudal  age,  and  the  dim  brother- 
hood of  the  ideal  world,  have  here  alike  their  record  and 
their  remembrance.  And  over  such  scenes  wanders  the 
young  German  student.  Instead  of  the  pomp  and  luxury  of 
the  English  traveller,  the  thousand  devices  to  cheat  the  way. 
he  has  but  his  volume  in  his  hand,  his  knapsack  at  his  back. 
Trcm  such  scenes  he  diaws  and  hives  all  that  various  store 
which  after  years  ripen  to  invention.  Hence  the  liorid  mix- 
ture of  the  German  muse — the  classic,  the  romantic,  the  con- 
templative, the  philosophic,  and  the  superstitious.  Each  the 
result  of  actual  meditation  over  different  scenes.  Each  the 
product  of  separate  but  confused  recollections.  As  the  Rhine 
Hows,  so  flows  the  national  genius,  by  mountain  and  valley 
— the  wildest  solitude — the  sudden  spires  of  ancient  cities — 
(he  mouldered  castle — the  stately  monastery — the  humble 
cot.  Grandeur  and  homeliness,  history  and  superstition, 
iTuth  and  fable,  succeeding  one  another  so  as  to  blend  into 
a  whole. 

"  But,"  added  Trevylyan  a  moment  afterwards,  "  the  Ideal 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KIIIXE. 


71 


is  passing  slowly  away  from  the  German  mind,  a  spirit  foi 
the  more  active  and  the  more  material  literature  is  springing 
up  amongst  them.  The  revolution  of  mind  gathers  on,  pre- 
ceding stormy  events ;  and  the  memories  that  led  their 
grandsires  to  contemplate,  will  urge  the  youth  of  the  next 
generation  to  dare  and  to  act."  * 

Thus  conversing,  they  continued  their  voyage,  with  a  fait 
wave  and  beneath  a  lucid  sky. 

The  vessel  now  glided  beside  the  Seven  Mountains  and 
the  Drachenfels. 

The  sun  slowly  setting  cast  his  yellow  beams  over  the 
smooth  waters.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountains  lay  a  village' 
deeply  sequestered  in  shade  ;  and  above,  the  Ruin  of  the  Dra- 
chenfels caught  the  richest  beams  of  the  sun.  Yet  thus  alone, 
though  lofty,  the  ray  cheered  not  the  gloom  that  hung  over 
the  giant  rock ;  it  stood  on  high,  like  some  great  name  on 
which  the  light  of  glory  may  shine,  but  which  it  associated 
with  a  certain  melancholy,  from  the  solitude  to  which  its  very 
height  above  the  level  of  the  herd  condemned  its  owner  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

The   Legend  of   Roland. — The  Adventures  of  Nymphalin  on  the  Island 
of  Nonnewerth. — Her  Song. — The  decay  of  the  Fairy-faith  in  England. 

On  the  shore  opposite  the  Dranchenfels  stand  the  Ruins 
of  Rolandseck, — they  are  the  shattered  crown  of  a  lofty,  and 
perpendicular  mountain,  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  the 
brave  Roland  ;  below,  the  trees  of  an  island  to  which  the 
lady  of  Roland  retired  rise  thick  and  verdant  from  the  smooth 
tide. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  eloquent  and  wild  grandeur  of 
the  whole  scene.  That  spot  is  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the 
Rhine. 

The  legend  that  consecrates  the  tower  and  the  island  is 
briefly  told  ;  it  belongs  to  a  class  so  common  to  the  Romaunts 
of  Germany.  Roland  goes  to  the  wars.  A  false  report  of 
his  death  reaches  his  betrothed.  She  retires  to  the  convent 
in  the  isle  of   Nonnewerth,  and   takes  the    irrevocable   veil 

»  Is  not  this  prediction  already  fulfilled  ? — 1849. 


72 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


Roland  returns  home,  flushed  with  glory  and  hope  to  find  that 
the  very  fidelity  of  his  affianced  had  placed  an  eternal  barrier 
between  them.  He  built  the  castle  that  bears  his  name,  and 
which  overlooks  the  monastery,  and  dwelt  there  till  his  death  : 
happy  in  the  power  at  least  to  gaze,  even  to  the  last,  upon 
those  walls  which  held  the  treasure  he  had  lost. 

The  willows  droop  in  mournful  luxuriance  along  the  island, 
and  harmonize  with  the  memory  that,  through  the  desert  of  a 
thousand  years,  love  still  keeps  green  and  fresh.  Nor  hath 
it  permitted  even  those  additions  of  fiction  which,  like  mosses, 
gather  by  time  over  the  truth  that  they  adorn,  yet  adornino 
conceal,  to  mar  the  simple  tenderness  of  the  legend. 

All  was  still  in  the  island  of  Nonnewerth  ;  the  lights  shone 
through  the  trees  from  the  house  that  contained  our  travellers. 
On  one  smooth  spot  where  the  islet  shelves  into  the  Rhine, 
met  the  wandering  fairies. 

"  Oh,  Pipalee  !  how  beautiful  !  "  cried  Nymphalin,  as  she 
stood  enraptured  by  the  wave  ;  a  star-beam  shining  on  her, 
with  her  yellow  hair  "  dancing  its  ringlets  in  the  whistling 
wind."  "  For  the  first  time  since  our  departure  I  do  not  miss 
the  green  fields  of  England." 

"  Hist  !  "  said  Pipalee  under  her  breath  ;  "  I  hear  fairy 
steps — they  must  be  the  steps  of  strangers." 

"  Let  us  retreat  into  this  thicket  of  weeds,"  said  Nym- 
phalin, somewhat  alarmed  ;  "  the  good  lord  treasurer  is  al- 
ready asleep  there."  They  whisked  into  what  to  them  was  a 
forest,  for  the  reeds  were  two  feet  high,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  they  found  the  lord  treasurer  stretched  beneath  a 
bulrush,  with  his  pipe  beside  him  :  for  since  he  had  been  in 
Germany  he  had  taken  to  smoking  :  and  indeed  wild  thyme, 
properly  dried,  makes  very  good  tobacco  for  a  fairy.  They 
also  found  Nip  and  Trip  sitting  very  close  together.  Nip 
playing  with  her  hair,  which  was  exceedingly  beautiful. 

"  What  do  you  do  here  ?  "  said  Pipalee,  shortly  ;  for  she 
was  rather  an  old  maid,  and  did  not  like  fairies  to  be  too 
close  to  each  other. 

"  Watching  my  lord's  slumber,"  said  Nip. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Pipalee. 

"  Nay,"  quoth  Trip,  blushing  like  a  sea-shell ;  "  there  is 
no  harm  in  that.,  I'm  sure." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  queen,  peeping  through  the  reeds. 

And  now  forth  from  the  green  bosom  of  the  earth  came  a 
tiny  train  ;  slowly,  two  by  two,  hand  in  hand,  they  swept  from 
a  small  aperture,  shadowed  with  fragrant  herbs,  and  formed 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  73 

themselves  into  a  ring :  then  came  other  fairies,  laden  with 
dainties,  and  presently  two  beautiful  white  mushroows  sprang 
up,  on  which  their  viands  were  placed,  and  lo,  there  was  a 
banquet !  Oh,  how  merry  they  were  !  what  gentle  peals  of 
laughter,  loud  as  a  virgin's  sigh  !  what  jests,  what  songs  ! 
Happy  race  !  if  mortals  could  see  you  as  often  as  I  do,  in 
the  soft  nights  of  summer,  they  would  never  be  at  a  loss  for 
entertainment.  But  as  our  English  fairies  looked  on,  they 
saw  that  these  foreign  elves  were  of  a  different  race  from 
themselves  ;  they  were  taller  and  less  handsome,  their  hair 
was  darker,  they  wore  mustaches,  and  had  something  of  a 
fiercer  air.  Poor  Nymphalin  was  a  little  frightened  ;  but 
presently  soft  music  was  heard  floating  along,  something  like 
the  sound  we  suddenly  hear  of  a  still  night,  when  a  light 
breeze  steals  through  rushes,  or  w^akes  a  ripple  in  some 
shallow  brook  dancing  over  pebbles.  And  lo  !  from  the 
aperture  of  the  earth  came  forth  a  fay,  superbly  dressed,  and 
of  a  noble  presence.  The  queen  started  back,  Pipalee 
rubbed  her  eyes.  Trip  looked  over  Pipalee's  shoulder,  and 
Nip,  pinching  her  arm,  cried  out  amazed,  "  By  the  last  new 
star,  that  is  Prince  von  Fayzenheim  !  " 

Poor  Nymphalin  gazed  again,  and  her  little  heart  beat 
under  her  bees'-wing  bodice  as  if  it  would  break.  The 
prince  had  a  melancholy  air,  and  he  sat  apart  from  the  ban- 
quet, gazing  abstractly  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Ah  !  "  whispered  Nymphalin  to  herself,  "  does  he  think 
of  me  ?  " 

Presently  the  prince  drew  forth  a  little  flute,  hollowed 
from  a  small  reed,  and  began  to  play  a  mournful  air,  Nymph- 
alin listened  with  delight ;  it  was  one  he  had  learned  in  her 
dominions. 

When  the  air  was  over,  the  prince  rose,  and,  approaching 
the  banqueters,  despatched  them  on  different  errands  ;  one 
to  visit  the  dwarf  of  the  Drachenfels,  another  to  look  after 
the  grave  of  Musa^us,  and  a  whole  detachment  to  puzzle  the 
students  of  Heidelberg.  A  few  launched  themselves  up- 
on willow  leaves  on  the  Rhine,  to  cruise  about  in  the  star- 
light, and  another  band  set  out  a-hunting  after  the  gray- 
legged  moth.  The  prince  was  left  alone  ;  and  now  Nymph- 
alin, seeing  the  coast  clear,  wrapped  herself  up  in  a  cloak 
made  out  of  a  withered  leaf  ; — and  only  letting  her  eyes  glow 
out  from  the  hood,  she  glided  from  the  reeds,  and  the  prince, 
turning  round,  saw  a  dark  fairy  figure  by  his  side.     He  drew 


y4  THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RIIINR. 

back,  a  little  startled,  and  placed  his  hand  on  his  sword,  when 
Nymphalin  circling  round  him,  sang  the  following  words  : — 

THE  FAIRY'S  REPROACH. 


By  the  glowworm's  lamp  in  the  dewy  brake  ; 

]5y  the  gossamer's  airy  net  ; 
By  the  shifting  skin  of  the  faithless  snake  ; 
Oh,  teach  me  to  forget  : 
For  none,  ah  none, 
Can  teach  so  well  that  human  spell 
As  Thou,  false  one  ! 

H. 

By  the  fairy  dance  on  the  greensward  smooth; 

By  the  winds  of  the  gentle  west ; 
By  the  loving  stars,  when  their  soft  looks  sooths 
The  waves  on  their  mother's  breast; 
Teach  me  thy  lore  ! 
By  which,  like  withered  flowers, 
The  lea\es  of  buried  Hours 
Blossom  no  more 

III. 

By  the  tent  in  the  violet's  bell; 

By  the  may  on  the  scented  bough  , 
By  the  lone  green  isle  where  my  sisters  dwell  ; 
And  thine  own  forgotten  vow  ; 
Teach  me  to  live. 
Nor  feed  on  thoughts  that  pine 
For  love  so  false  as  thine  1 
Teach  me  thy  lore. 
And  one  thou  lov'st  no  more 

Will  bless  thee  and  forgive  ! 

"  Surely,"  said  Fayzenheim,  faltering,  "  surely  I  know 
that  voice  !  " 

And  Nymphalin's  cloak'  dropped  off  her  shoulder.  "  My 
English  fairy !  "  and  Fayzenheim  knelt  beside  her. 

I  wish  you  had  seen  the  fay  kneel,  for  you  Avould  have 
sworn  it  was  so  like  a  human  lo\'er,  that  you  would  never 
have  sneered  at  love  afterwards.  Love  is  so  fair}-like  a  part 
of  us,  that  even  a  fairy  cannot  make  it  differently  from  us 
— that  is  to  say,  when  we  love  truly. 

There  was  great  joy  in  the  island  that  night  among  the 
elves.     They  conducted   Nymphalin  to  their  palace  within 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  KFTINE.  75 

the  earth,  and  feasted  her  sumptuously  ;  and  Nip  told  then 
adventures  with  so  much  spirit,  that  he  enchanted  the  merry 
foreigners.  Ikit  Fayzenheim  talked  apart  to  Nymphalin,  and 
told  her  how  he  was  lord  of  that  island,  and  how  he  had  been 
obliged  to  return  to  his  dominions  by  the  law  of  his  tribe, 
which  allowed  him  to  be  absent  only  a  certain  time  in  every 
year ;  "  But,  my  queen,  I  always  intended  to  revisit  thee  next 
spring." 

"  Thou  needest  not  have  left  us  so  abruptly,"  said  Nym- 
phalin, blushing. 

"But  do  i/iou  never  leave  me!"  said  the  ardent  fair}-; 
"  be  mine,  and  let  our  nuptials  be  celebrated  on  these  shores. 
Wouldst  thou  sigh  for  thy  green  island  1  No  !  for  t/tere  the 
fairy  altars  are  deserted,  the  faith  is  gone  from  the  land  ;  thou 
art  among  Che  last  of  an  unhonored  and  expiring  race.  Thy 
mortal  poets  are  dumb,  and  Fancy,  which  was  thy  priestess, 
sleeps  hushed  in  her  last  repose.  New  and  hard  creeds  have 
succeeded  to  the  fairy  lore.  Who  steals  through  the  starlit 
boughs  on  the  nights  of  June  to  watch  the  roundels  of  thy 
tribe  ?  The  wheels  of  commerce,  the  din  of  trade,  have 
silenced  to  mortal  ear  the  music  of  thy  subjects'  harps  1  And 
the  noisy  habitations  of  men,  harsher  than  their  dreaming 
sires,  are  gathering  round  the  dell  and  vale  where  thy  co- 
mates  linger ; — a  few  years,  and  where  will  be  the  green  soli- 
tudes of  England  ?  " 

The  queen  sighed,  and  the  prince,  perceiving  that  he  was 
listened  to,  continued  : — 

"  Who,  in  thy  native  shores,  among  the  children  of  men, 
now  claim  the  fairy's  care  ?  What  cradle  wouldst  thou 
tend  "i  On  what  maid  wouldst  thou  shower  thy  rosy  gifts  ? 
What  bard  wouldst  thou  haunt  in  his  dreams  ?  Poesy  is  fled 
the  island,  why  shouldst  thou  linger  behind  ?  Time  hath 
brought  dull  customs,  that  laugh  at  thy  gentle  being.  Puck 
is  buried  in  the  harebell  ;  he  has  left  no  offspring,  and  none 
mourn  for  his  loss ;  for  night,  which  is  the  fairy  season,  is 
busy  and  garish  as  the  day.  What  hearth  is  desolate  after 
the  curfew  ?  What  house  bathed  in  stillness  at  the  hour  in 
which  thy  revels  commence  ?  Thine  empire  among  men  has 
passed  from  thee,  and  thy  race  are  vanishing  from  the 
crowded  soil.  For,  despite  our  diviner  nature,  our  existence 
is  linked  with  man's.  Their  neglect  is  our  disease,  their  for- 
getfulness  our  death.  Leave,  then,  those  dull,  yet  troubled 
scenes,  that  are  closing  round  the  fairy  rings  of  thy  native 
isle.     These,  mountains,  this  herbage,  these  gliding  waves 


76  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

these  mouldering  ruins,  these  starred  rivulets,  be  they,  O 
beautiful  fairy,  thy  new  domain.  Yet  in  these  lands  our  wor 
ship  lingers  ;  still  can  we  fill  the  thought  of  the  young  bard, 
and  mingle  with  his  yearnings  after  the  Beautiful,  the  Un- 
seen, Hither  come  the  pilgrims  of  the  world,  anxious  only 
to  gather  from  these  scenes  the  legends  of  Us  ;  ages  will  pass 
away  ere  the  Rhine  shall  be  desecrated  of  our  haunting 
presence.  Come,  then,  my  queen,  let  this  palace  be  thine 
own,  and  the  moon  that  glances  over  the  shattered  towers  of 
the  Dragon  Rock  witness  our  nuptials  and  our  vows !  " 

In  such  words  the  fairy  prince  courted  the  young  queen, 
and  while  she  sighed  at  their  truth,  she  yielded  to  their 
charm.  Oh  !  still  may  there  be  one  spot  on  the  earth  where 
the  fairy  feet  may  press  the  legendary  soil — still  be  there  one 
land  where  the  faith  of  the  Bright  Invisible  hallows  and  in- 
spires !  Still  glide  thou,  O  majestic  and  solemn  Rhine, 
among  shades  and  valleys,  from  which  the  wisdom  of  belief 
can  call  the  creations  of  the  younger  world ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Wherein  the  reader  is  made  spectator,  with  the  English  Fairies,  of  the 
Scenes  and  Beings  that  are  beneath  the  Earth. 

During  the  heat  of  next  day's  noon,  Fayzenheim  took  the 
English  visitors  through  the  cool  caverns  that  wind  amidst 
the  mountains  of  the  Rhine.  There  a  thousand  wonders 
awaited  the  eyes  of  the  fairy  queen.  I  speak  not  of  the 
Gothic  arch  and  aisle  into  which  the  hollow  earth  forms  it- 
self, or  the  stream  that  rushes  with  a  mighty  voice  through 
the  dark  chasm,  or  the  silver  columns  that  shoot  aloft, 
worked  by  the  gnomes  from  the  mines  of  the  mountains  of 
Taunus  ;  but  of  the  strange  inhabitants  that  from  time  to 
time  they  came  upon.  They  found  in  one  solitary  cell,  lined 
with  dry  moss,  two  misshapen  elves,  of  a  larger  size  than 
common,  with  a  plebeian  working-day  aspect,  who  were  chat- 
ting noisily  together,  and  making  a  pair  of  boots  :  these  were 
the  Hausmannen  or  domestic  elves,  that  dance  into  trades- 
men's houses  of  a  night,  and  play  all  sorts  of  undignified 
tricks.     They  were  very  civil  to  the  queen,  for  they  are  good- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PHINE.  j-j 

natured  creatures  on  the  whole,  and  once  had  many  relations 
in  Scotland.  I'hey  then,  followhig  the  course  of  a  noisy 
rivulet,  came  to  a  hole,  from  which  the  sharp  head  of  a  fox 
peeped  out.  The  queen  was  frightened,  "  Oh,  come  on," 
said  the  fox,  encouragingly,  "  I  am  one  of  the  fairy  race,  and 
many  are  the  gambols  we  of  the  brute-elves  play  in  the  Ger- 
man world  of  romance."  "  Indeed,  Mr,  Fox,"  said  the 
piince,  "  you  only  speak  the  truth  ;  and  how  is  Mr.  Bruin  ?  " 
"  Quite  well,  my  prince,  but  tired  of  his  seclusion  ;  for  in- 
deed our  race  can  do  little  or  nothing  now  in  the  world,  and 
lie  here,  in  our  old  age,  telling  stories  of  the  past,  and  re- 
calling the  exploits  we  did  in  our  youth,  which,  madam,  you 
may  see  in  all  the  fairy  histories  in  the  prince's  library." 

"  Your  own  love  adventures,  for  instance,  Master  Fox," 
said  the  prince. 

The  fox  snarled  angrily,  and  drew  in  his  head. 

"  You  have  displeased  your  friend,"  said  Nymphalin, 

"  Yes — he  likes  no  allusions  to  the  amorous  follies  of  his 
youth.     Did  you  ever  hear  of  his  rivalry  with  the  dog  for  the 


cat's  good  graces  .-"  " 

"  No — that  must  be  very  amusing." 


"  Well,  my  queen,  when  we  rest  by  and  by,  I  will  relate 
to  you  the  history  of  the  fox's  wooing." 

The  next  place  they  came  to  was  a  vast  Runic  cavern, 
covered  with  dark  inscriptions  of  a  forgotten  tongue ;  and, 
sitting  on  a  huge  stone,  they  found  a  chvarf  with  long  yellow 
hair,  his  head  leaning  on  his  breast,  and  absorbed  in  medita- 
tion. 

"  This  is  a  spirit  of  a  wise  and  powerful  race,"  whispered 
Fayzenheim,  "  that  has  often  battled  with  the  fairies  ;  but  he 
is  of  the  kindly  tribe." 

Then  the  dwarf  lifted  his  head  with  a  mournful  air,  and 
gazed  upon  the  bright  shapes  before  him,  lighted  by  the  pine- 
torches  that  the  prince's  attendants  carried. 

"  And  what  dost  thou  muse  upon  ?  O  descendant  of  the 
race  of  Laurin  !  "  said  the  prince. 

"  Upon  Time,"  answered  the  dwarf,  gloomily,  "  I  see  a 
River,  and  its  waves  are  black,  flowing  from  the  clouds,  and 
none  knoweth  its  source.  It  rolls  deeply  on,  aye  and  ever- 
more, through  a  green  valley,  which  it  slowly  swallows  up, 
washing  away  tower  and  town,  and  vanquishing  all  things; 
and  the  name  of  the  River  is  Time," 

Then  the  dwarf's  head  sank  on  his  bosom,  and  he  spoke 
no  more. 


^8  'J  IJE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

The  fairies  proceeded  : — "  Above  us,"  said  the   prince, 
"  rises   one   of   the   loftiest   mountains    of   the    Rhine ;    for 
mountains  are  the  dwarf's  home.     When    the    Great  Spirit 
of  all  made  earth,  he  saw  that  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  and 
hills   were  tenantless,  and  yet  that   a  mighty  kingdom  and 
great  palaces  were  hid  within  them  ;  a  dread  an-d  dark  soli- 
tude ;  "but  lighted  at  times  from  the   starry  eyes  of  many 
jewels  ;  and  there  was  the   treasure   of  the  human  world— 
gold  and   silver — and  great   heaps   of  gems,  and  a    soil   of 
metals.     So  God   made   a   race   for  this  vast   empire,   and 
gifted  them  with  the  power  of  thought   and  the   soul  of  ex- 
ceeding wisdom ;  so  that  they  want  not  the   merriment  and 
enterprise   of  the  outer  world :    but   musing  in   these^  dark 
caves    is   their   delight.     Their  existence  rolls  away  in  the 
luxury  of  thought ;  only  from  time  to  time  they  appear  in  the 
world,  and  betoken  woe   or  weal  to  men  ;  according  to  their 
nature — for  they  are  divided  into  two  tribes,  the  benevolent 
and  the  wrathful."     While  the  prince  spoke,  they  saw  glar- 
ing upon  them,  from  a  ledge  in  the  upper  rock,  a  grisly  face 
with  a  long  matted  beard.     The  prince  gathered  himself  up, 
and  frowned  at  the  evil  dwarf,  for  such  it  was  ;  but  with  a 
wild   laugh  the   face  abruptly  disappeared,  and  the  echo  of 
the  laugh  rang  with  a  ghastly  sound  through  the   long  hol- 
lows of  the  earth. 

The  queen  clung  to  Fayzenheim's  arm.  Fear  not,  my 
queen,"  said  he  ;  "  the  evil  race  have  no  power  over  our  light 
and  aerial  nature ;  with  men  only  they  war  ;  and  he  whom 
we  have  seen  was,  in  the  old  ages  of  the  world,  one  of  the 
deadliest  visitors  to  mankind." 

But  now  they  came  winding  by  a  passage  to  a  beautiful  re- 
cess in  the  mountain  empire  ;  it  was  of  a  circular  shape  of 
amazing  height ;  in  the  midst  of  it  played  a  natural  fountain 
of  sparkling  waters,  and  around  it  were  columns  of  massive 
granite,  rising  in  countless  vistas,  till  lost  in  the  distant  shade. 
Jewels  were  scattered  round,  and  brightly  played  the  fairy 
torches  on  the  gem,  the  fountain,  and  the  pale  silver,  that 
gleamed  at  frequent  intervals  from  the  rocks.  "  Here  let  us 
rest,"  said  the  gallant  fairy,  clapping  his  hands—"  what,  ho  ! 
music  and  the  feast !  " 

So  the  feast  was  spread  by  the  fountain's  side  ;  and  tlifi 

courtiers  scattered  rose-leaves',  which  they  had  brought  with 

-  them,  for  the  prince  and  his  \-isitor ;  and  amidst  the  dark 

kingdom  of  the  dwarfs  broke  the  delicate  sound  of  fairy  lutes. 

"  We  have  not  those  evil  beings  in  England,"  said  the  auecn. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  'j^ 

as  low  as  she  could  speak  ;  "  they  rouse  my  fear,  but  my  in- 
terest also.  Tell  me,  clear  prince,  ot  what  nature  was  the  in- 
tercourse of  the  evil  dwarf  with  man  ?  " 

"  You  know,"  answered  the  prince,  "  that  to  every  species 
of  living  thing  there  is  something  in  common  ;  the  vast  chain 
of  sympathy  runs  through  all  creation.  By  that  which  they 
have  in  common  with  the  beast  of  the  field  or  the  bird  of 
the  air,  men  govern  the  inferior  tribes  ;  they  appeal  to  the 
common  passions  of  fear  and  emulation  when  they  tame  the 
wild  steed ;  to  the  common  desire  of  greed  and  gain  when 
they  snare  the  fishes  of  the  stream,  or  allure  the  wolves  to 
the  pitfall  by  the  bleating  of  the  lamb.  In  their  turn,  in  the 
older  ages  of  the  world,  it  was  by  the  passions  which  men 
had  in  common  with  the  demon  race,  that  the  fiends  com 
manded  or  allured  them.  The  dwarf  whom  you  saw,  being 
of  that  race  which  is  characterized  by  the  ambition  of 
power  and  the  desire  of  hoarding,  appealed  then  in  liis 
intercourse  with  men  to  the  same  characteristics  in  their 
own  bosoms  ;  to  ambition  or  to  avarice.  And  thus  were  his 
victims  made  !  But,  not  now,  dearest  Nymphalin,"  continued 
the  prince,  with  a  more  lively  air — "  not  now  will  we  speak  of 
those  gloomy  beings.  Ho,  there  !  cease  the  music,  and  come 
hither  all  of  ye — to  listen  to  a  faithful  and  homely  history  of 
the  Dog,  the  Cat,  the  Griffin,  and  the  Fox." 


CHAPTER  XH. 

The  Wooincr  of  Master  Fox.* 


You  are  aware,  my  dear  Nymphalin,  that  in  the  time  of 
which  I  am  about  to  speak  there  was  no  particular  enmity 
between  the  various  species  of  brutes  ;  the  dog  and  the  hare 

*  In  the  excursions  of  the  fairies,  it  is  the  object  of  the  author  to 
bring  before  the  rea-tier  a  rapid  phantasmagoria  of  the  various  beings 
that  belong  to  the  German  superstitions,  so  that  the  work  may  tlius  de- 
scril^e  the  outer  and  the  inner  world  of  the  land  of  the  Rhine.  The  tale 
of  the  Fox's  Wooing  has  been  composed  to  give  the  English  reader  an 
idea  of  a  species  of  novel  not  naturalized  amongst  us,  though  frequent 
among  the  legends  of  our  Irish  neighbors  ;  in  which  the  brutes  are  the 
only  characters  drawn — drawn  too,  with  shades  of  distinction  as  nice 
and  subtle  as  if  they  were  the  creatures  of  a  civilized  world. 


So  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

chatted  very  agreeably  together,  and  all  the  world  knows  that 
the  wolf,  unacquainted  with  mutton,  had  a  particular  affection 
for  the  lamb.  In  these  happy  days,  two  most  respectable 
cats,  of  very  old  family,  had  an  only  daughter ;  never  wa? 
kitten  more  amiable  or  more  seducing  ;  as  she  grew  up  she 
manifested  so  many  charms,  that  in  a  little  while  she  became 
noted  as  the  greatest  beauty  in  the  neighborhood  ;  need  I  tc 
you,  dearest  Nymphalin,  describe  her  perfections  ?  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  her  skin  was  of  the  most  delicate  tortoiseshell, 
that  her  paws  were  smoother  than  velvet,  that  her  whiskers 
were  twelve  inches  long  at  the  least,  and  that  her  eyes  had 
a  gentleness  altogether  astonishing  in  a  cat.  But  if  the  young 
beauty  had  suitors  in  plenty  during  the  lives  of  monsieur  and 
madame,  you  may  suppose  the  number  was  not  diminished 
when,  at  the  age  of  two  years  and  a  half  she  was  left  an  or- 
phan, and  sole  heiress  to  all  the  hereditary  property.  In 
fine,  she  was  the  richest  marriage  in  the  whole  country.  With- 
out troubling  you,  dearest  queen,  with  the  adventures  of  the 
rest  of  her  lovers  ;  with  their  suit,  and  their  rejection,  I  come 
at  once  to  the  two  rivals  most  sanguine  of  success — the  dog 
and  the  fox. 

Now  the  dog  was  a  handsome,  honest,  straightforward,  af- 
fectionate fellow.  "  For  my  part,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  wonder 
at  my  cousin's  refusing  Bruin  the  bear,  and  Gauntgrim  the 
wolf:  to  be  sure  they  give  themselves  great  airs,  and  call 
themselves  '  noble,''  but  what  then  .''  Bruin  is  always  in  the 
sulks,  and  Gauntgrim  always  in  a  passion  ;  a  cat  of  any  sen- 
sibility would  lead  a  miserable  life  with  them  :  as  for  me,  I 
am  very  good-tempered  when  I'm  not  put  out ;  and  I  have 
no  fault  except  that  of  being  angry  if  disturbed  at  my  meals. 
I  am  young  and  good  looking,  fond  of  play  and  amusement, 
and  altogether  as  agreeable  a  husband  as  a  cat  could  find  in  a 
summer's  day.  If  she  marries  me,  well  and  good  ;  she  may 
have  her  property  settled  on  herself  : — if  not,  I  shall  bear  her 
no  malice  ;  and  I  hope  I  shan't  be  too  much  in  love  to  forget 
that  there  are  other  cats  in  the  world." 

With  that  the  dog  threw  his  tail  over  his  back,  and  set 
off  to  his  mistress  with  a  gay  face  on  the  matter. 

Now  the  fox  heard  the  dog  talking  thus  to  himself — for 
the  fox  was  always  peeping  about  in  holes  and  corners,  and 
he  burst  out  a-laughing  when  the  dog  was  oiit  of  sight. 

"  Ho,  ho,  my  fine  fellow!  "  said  he  ;  "not  so  fast,  if  you 
please  :  you've  got  the  fox  for  a  rival,  let  me  tell  you." 

The  fox,  as  you  very  well  know,  is  a  beast  that  can  never 


THE  riLGRIAIS  OF  THE  RHINE.  8 1 

do  anything  without  a  mancEuvre  ;  and  as,  from  his  cunning, 
he  was  generally  very  lucky  in  anything  he  undertook,  he  did 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  he  should  put  the  dog's  nose  out 
of  joint.  Reynard  was  aware  that  in  love  one  should  always, 
if  possible,  be  the  first  in  the  field,  and  he  therefore  resolved 
to  get  the  start  of  the  dog  and  arrive  before  him  at  the  cat's 
residence.  But  this  was  no  easy  matter ;  for  though  Rey- 
nard could  run  faster  than  the  dog  for  a  little  way,  he  was  no 
match  for  him  in  a  journey  of  some  distance.  "However," 
said  Reynard,  "  those  good-natured  creatures  are  never  very 
wise  ;  and  I  think  I  know  already  what  will  make  him  bait 
on  his  way." 

With  that  the  fox  trotted  pretty  fast  by  a  short  cut  in  the 
woods,  and  getting  before  the  dog,  laid  himself  down  by  a 
holf^  in  the  earth,  and  began  to  howl  most  piteously. 

The  dog,  hearing  the  noise,  was  very  much  alarmed  ; 
"  See  now,"  said  he,  "  if  the  poor  fox  has  not  got  himself  into 
some  scrape  !  Those  cunning  creatures  are  always  in  mis- 
chief;  thank  Heaven,  it  never  comes  into  my  head  to  be 
cunning  !"  And  the  good-natured  animal  ran  off  as  hard  as 
he  could  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with  the  fox. 

"  Oh  dear !  "  cried  Reynard  ;  "  what  shall  I  do,  what 
shall  1  do  !  my  poor  little  sister  has  fallen  into  this  hole,  and 
I  can't  get  her  out — she'll  certainly  be  smothered."  And 
the  fox  burst  out  a-howling  more  piteously  than  before. 

"  But,  my  dear  Reynard,"  quoth  the  dog,  very  simply ; 
"  why  don't  you  go  in  after  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  may  well  ask  that,"  said  the  fox ;  "  but,  in  try- 
ing to  get  in,  don't  you  perceive  that  I  have  sprained  my 
back,  and  can't  stir }  Oh  dear  !  what  shall  I  do  if  my  poor 
little  sister  is  smothered  !  " 

"Pray  don't  vex  yourself,"  said  the  dog;  "I'll  get  her 
out  in  an  instant ;  "  and  with  that  he  forced  himself  with 
great  difficulty  into  the  hole. 

Now,  no  sooner  did  the  fox  see  that  the  dog  was  fairly  in, 
than  he  rolled  a  great  stone  to  the  mouth  of  the  hole,  and 
fitted  it  so  tight,  that  the  dog,  not  being  able  to  turn  round 
and  scratch  against  it  with  his  fore-paws,  was  made  a  close 
prisoner. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  cried  Reyrard,  laughing  outside ;  "  amuse 
yourself  with  my  poor  little  sister,  while  I  go  and  make  your 
compliments  to  Mademoiselle  the  Cat." 

Witli  that  Reynard  set  off  at  an  easy  pace,  never  troub- 
ling his  head  what  became  of  the  poor  dog.     When  he  ar- 


82  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

rived  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  beautiful  cat's  mansion,  he 
resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  friend  of  liis,  an  old  magpie  that 
lived  in  a  tree,  and  was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  news  of 
the  place.  "  For,"  thought  Reynard,  "  I  may  as  well  know 
the  blind  side  of  my  mistress  that  is  to  be,  and  get  round  it 
at  once." 

The  magpie  received  the  fox  with  great  cordiality,  and  in- 
quired fv'hat  brought  him  so  great  a  distance  from  home, 

"  T.pon  my  v>ord,"  said  the  fox,  "  nothing  so  much  as  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  your  ladyship,  and  hearing  those  agreea- 
ble anecdotes  you  tell  with  so  charming  a  grace :  but,  to  let 
you  into  a  secret — be  sure  it  don't  go  farther " 

"  On  the  word  of  a  magpie,"  interrupted  the  bird. 

"  Pardon  me  for  doubting  you,"  continued  the  fox  ;  "  I 
should  have  recollected  that  a  pie  was  a  proverb  for  discre- 
tion. But,  as  I  was  saying,  you  know  her  majesty,  the 
lioness  .-'  " 

"  Surely,"  said  the  magpie,  bridling. 

"Well  ;  she  was  pleased  to  fall  in— that  is  to  say — to — 
to— take  a  caprice  to  your  humble  servant,  and  the  lion  grew 
so  jealous  that  I  thought  it  prudent  to  decamp.  A  jealous 
lion  is  no  joke,  let  me  assure  your  ladyship.  But  mum's  the 
word." 

So  great  a  piece  of  news  delighted  the  magpie.  She 
could  not  but  repay  it  in  kind,  by  all  the  news  in  her  budget. 
She  told  the  fox  all  the  scandal  about  Bruin  and  Gauntgrim, 
and  she  then  fell  to  work  on  the  poor  young  cat.  She  did 
not  spare  her  foibles,  you  may  be  quite  sure.  The  fox  lis- 
tened with  great  attention,  and  he  learned  enough  to  con- 
vince him  that,  however  much  the  magpie  might  exaggerate, 
the  cat  was  very  susceptible  to  flattery,  and  had  a  great  deal 
of  imagination. 

When  the  magpie  had  finished,  she  said,  "  But  it  must  be 
<&xy  unfortunate  for  you  to  be  banished  from  so  magnificent 
a  court  as  that  of  the  lion  !  " 

"  As  to  that,"  answered  the  fox,  "  I  consoled  myself  foi 
my  exile  with  a  present  his  majesty  made  me  on  parting,  as  a 
reward  for  my  anxiety  for  his  honor  and  domestic  tranquillity ; 
namely,  three  hairs  from  the  fifth  leg  of  the  amoronthologos- 
phorus.     Only  think  of  that,  ma'am  !  " 

"  The  what  ? "  cried  the  pie,  cocking  down  her  left  ear. 

"  The  amorontbologosphorus." 

"  La !  "  said  the  magpie  ;  "  and  what  is  that  ver}'  long 
word,  my  dear  Reynard  ?  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  R II I. YE.  83 

"  The  amoronthologosphorus  is  a  beast  that  lives  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  Cylinx  ;  it  has  five  legs,  and  on  the 
fifth  leg  there  are  three  hairs,  and  whoever  has  those  three 
hairs  can  be  young  and  beautiful  forever." 

"  Bless  me  !  I  wish  you  would  let  me  see  them,"  said  the 
pie,  holding  out  her  paw. 

"  Would  that  I  could  oblige  )ou  ma'am  ;  but  it's  as  much 
as  my  life's  worth  to  show  them  to  any  but  the  lady  I  marry. 
In  fact,  they  only  have  an  effect  on  the  fair  sex,  as  you  may 
see  by  myself,  whose  poor  person  they  utterly  fail  to  improve  : 
they  are,  therefore,  intended  for  a  marriage-present,  and  his 
majesty  tlT£  lion  thus  generously  atoned  to  me  for  relinquish- 
ing the  tenderness  of  his  queen.  One  must  confess  that  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  delicacy  in  the  gift.  But  you'll  be  sure 
not  to  mention  it." 

"  A  magpie  gossip,  indeed  !  "   quoth  the  old  blab. 

The  fox  then  wished  the  magpie  good  night,  and  retired 
to  a  hole  to  sleep  off  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  before  he  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  beautiful  young  cat. 

The  next  morning,  Heaven  knows  how  !  it  was  all  over 
the  place  that  Reynard  the  fox  had  been  banished  from  court 
for  the  favor  shown  him  by  her  majesty,  and  that  the  lion 
had  bribed  his  departure  with  three  hairs  that  would  make 
any  lady  whom  the  fox  married  young  and  beautiful  for  ever. 

The  cat  was  the  first  to  learn  the  news,  and  she  became 
all  curiosity  to  see  so  interesting  a  stranger,  possessed  of 
"  qualifications  "  which,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  "  would 
render  any  animal  happy !  "  She  was  not  long  without  ob- 
taining her  wish.  As  she  was  taking  a  walk  in  the  wood,  the 
fox  contrived  to  encounter  her.  You  may  be  sure  that  he 
made  her  his  best  bow  ;  and  he  flattered  the  poor  cat  with 
so  courtly  an  air  that  she  saw  nothing  surprising  in  the  love 
of  the  lioness. 

Meanwhile,  let  us  see  what  became  of  his  rival,  the  dog. 

"  Ah,  the  poor  creature  !  said  Nymphalin  ;  "  it  is  easy 
to  guess  that  he  need  not  be  buried  alive  to  lose  all  chance  of 
marr}-ing  the  heiress." 

"  Wait  till  the  end,"  answered  Fayzenheim.  When  the 
dog  found  that  he  was  thus  entrapped,  he  gave  himself  up  for 
lost.  In  vain  he  kicked  with  his  hind  le^s  against  the  stone 
— he  only  succeeded  in  bruising  his  paws  ;  and  at  length  he 
was  forced  to  lie  down  with  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth,  and 
quite  exhausted.  "  However,"  said  he,  after  he  had  taken 
breath,  "  it  won't  do  to  be  starved  here,  without  doing  my 


84  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

best  to  escape  ;  and  if  I  can't  get  out  one  way,  let  me  see  ii 
there  is  not  a  hole  at  the  other  end."  Thus  saying,  his  cour- 
age, which  stood  him  in  Heu  of  cunning,  returned,  and  he 
proceeded  on  in  the  same  straightforward  way  in  which  he 
always  conducted  himself.  At  tirst  the  path  was  exceedingly 
narrow,  and  he  hurt  his  sides  very  much  against  the  rough 
stones  that  projected  from  the  earth.  But  by  degrees  the 
way  became  broader,  and  he  now  went  on  with  considerable 
ease  to  himself,  till  he  arrived  in  a  large  cavern,  where  he  saw 
an  immense  griffin  sitting  on  his  tail,  and  smoking  a  huge 
pipe. 

The  clog  was  by  no  means  pleased  at  meeting  so  suddenly 
a  creature  that  had  only  to  open  his  mouth  to  swallow  him  up 
at  a  morsel ;  however,  he  put  a  bold  face  on  the  danger,  and 
walking  respectfully  up  to  the  grffin,  said,  "  Sir,  I  should  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  inform  me  the  way  out 
of  these  holes  into  the  upper  world." 

The  griffin  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  looked  at 
the  dog  very  sternly, 

"  Ho,  wretch  !  "  said  he,  "  how  camest  thou  hither  ?  I 
suppose  thou  wantest  to  steal  my  treasure  :  but  I  know  how 
to  treat  such  vagabonds  as  you,  and  I  shall  certainly  eat  you 
up." 

"  You  can  do  that  if  you  choose,"  said  the  dog  ;  "  but  it 
would  be  very  unhandsome  conduct  in  an  animal  so  much 
bigger  than  myself.  For  my  own  part,  I  never  attack  any 
dog  that  is  not  of  equal  size  ;  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself 
if  I  did.  And  as  to  your  treasure,  the  character  T  bear  for 
honesty  is  too  well  known  to  merit  such  a  suspicion. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  the  griffin,  who  could  not  help 
smiling  for  the  life  of  him,  "you  have  a  singularly  free  mode 
of  expressing  yourself  ; — and  how,  I  say,  came  you  hither  ?  " 

Then  the  dog,  who  did  not  know  what  a  lie  was,  told  the 
griffin  his  whole  history, — how  he  had  set  off  to  pay  his  court 
to  the  cat,  and  how  Reynard  the  fox  had  entrapped  him  into 
the  hole. 

When  he  had  finished,  the  griffin  said  to  him,  "  I  see,  my 
triend,  that  you  know  how  to  speak  the  truth  ;  I  am  in  want 
of  just  such  a  servant  as  you  will  make  me,  therefore  stay  with 
me  and  keep  watch  over  my  treasure  when  I  sleep." 

"  Two  words  to  that,"  said  the  dog. 

"  You  have  hurt  my  feelings  very  much  by  suspecting  my 
honesty,  and  I  would  much  sooner  go  back  into  the  wood  and 
be  avenged  on  that  scoundrel  the  fox,  than  serve  a  master 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  8q 

who  has  so  ill  an  opinion  of  me.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to 
dismiss  me,  and  to  put  me  in  the  right  way  to  my  cousin  the 
cat." 

"  I  am  not  a  griffin  of  many  words,"  answered  the  master 
of  the  cavern,  "  and  I  give  you  your  clioice — be  my  servant, 
or  be  my  breakfast ;  it  is  just  the  same  to  me,  I  give  you 
time  to  decide  till  I  have  smoked  out  my  pipe." 

The  poor  dog  did  not  take  so  long  to  consider.  "  It  is  true," 
thought  he,  "  that  it  is  a  great  misfortune  to  live  in  a  cave 
with  a  griffin  of  so  unpleasant  a  countenance  ;  but,  probably, 
if  I  serve  him  well  and  faithfully,  he'll  take  pity  on  me  some 
day,  and  let  me  go  back  to  eartli,  and  prove  to  my  cousin 
what  a  rogue  the  fox  is  ;  and  as  to  the  rest,  though  I  would 
sell  my  life  as  dear  as  I  could,  it  is  impossible  to  fight  a  griffin 
with  a  mouth  of  so  monstrous  a  size," — In  short,  he  decided 
to  stay  with  the  griffin. 

"  Shake  a  paw  on  it."  quoth  the  grim  smoker;  and  the 
dog  shook  paws. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  griffin,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  you 
are  to  do — look  here  ;  "  ancl  moving  his  tail,  he  showed  the 
dog  a  great  heap  of  gold  and  silver,  in  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
that  he  had  covered  with  the  folds  of  his  tail ;  and  also,  what 
the  dog  thought  more  valuable,  a  great  heap  of  bones  of  very 
tempting  appearance. 

"  Now,"  said  the  griffin,  "  during  the  day,  I  can  take  very 
good  care  of  these  myself ;  but  at  night  it  is  very  necessary 
that  I  should  go  to  sleep ;  so  when  I  sleep,  you  must  watch 
over  them  instead  of  me." 

•'Very  well,"  satd  the  dog.  "As  to  the  gold  and  silver, 
I  have  no  objection  ;  but  I  would  much  rather  that  you  would 
lock  up  the  bones,  for  I'm  often  hungry  of  a  night,  and " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  griffin. 

*'  But,  sir,"  said  the  dog,  after  a  short  silence,  "  surely  no- 
body ever  comes  into  so  retired  a  situation  !  Who  are  the 
thieves,  if  I  may  make  bold  to  ask  ?  " 

"  Know,"  answered  the  griffin,  "  that  there  are  a  great 
many  serpents  in  this  neighborhood  ;  they  are  always  trying 
to  steal  my  treasure  ;  and  if  they  catch  me  napping,  they,  not 
contented  with  theft,  would  do  their  best  to  sting  me  to  death. 
So  that  I  am  almost  worn  out  for  want  of  sleep." 

"  Ah  !  "  quoth  the  dog,  who  was  fond  of  a  good  night's  rest, 
"  I  don't  envy  you  your  treasure,  sir." 

At  night,  the  griffin,  who  had  a  great  deal  of  penetra- 
tion, and  saw  that  he  might  depend  on  the  dog,  lay  down  to 


86  THE  PILGRIMS  OP  THE  RHINE. 

sleep  in  another  corner  of  the  cave  ;  and  the  dog,  shaking 
himself  well,  so  as  to  be  quite  awake,  took  watch  over  the 
treasure.  His  mouth  watered  exceedingly  at  the  bones,  and 
he  could  not  help  smelling  them  now  and  then  ;  but  he  said 
to  himself, — "  a  bargain's  a  bargain,  and  since  I  have  prom- 
ised to  serve  the  gritiin,  I  must  serve  him  as  an  honest  dog 
ought  to  serve." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  saw  a  great  snake  creeping 
in  by  the  side  of  the  cave,  but  the  dog  set  up  so  loud  a  bark 
that  the  grifhn  awoke,  and  the  snake  crept  away  as  fast  as  he 
could.  Then  the  griffin  was  very  much  pleased,  and  he  gave 
the  dog  one  of  the  bones  to  amuse  himself  with  ;  and  every 
night  the  dog  watched  the  treasure,  and  acquitted  himself  so 
well,  that  not  a  snake,  at  last,  dared  to  make  its  appearance  ; 
— so  the  griffin  enjoyed  an  excellent  night's  rest. 

The  dog  now  found  himself  much  more  comfortable  than 
he  expected.  The  griffin  regularly  gave  him  one  of  the  bones 
for  supper  ;  and,  pleased  with  his  fidelity,  made  himself  as 
agreeable  a  master  as  a  griffin  could  be.  Still,  however,  the 
dog  was  secretly  very  anxious  to  return  to  earth  ;  for  having 
nothing  to  do  during  the  day  but  to  doze  on  the  ground,  he 
dreamed  perpetually  of  his  cousin  the  cat's  charms  ;  and,  in 
fancy,  he  gave  the  rascal  Reynard  as  hearty  a  worry  as  a  fox 
may  well  have  the  honor  of  receiving  from  a  dog's  paws.  He 
awoke  panting — alas  !  he  could  not  realize  his  dreams. 

One  night  as  he  was  watching  as  usual  over  the  treasure, 
he  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  a  beautiful  little  black  and 
white  dog  enter  the  cave  ;  and  it  came  fawning  to  our  honest 
friend,  wagging  its  tail  with  pleasure. 

"  Ah  !  little  one,"  said  our  dog,  whom,  to  distinguish,  I 
will  call  the  watch-dog,  "  you  had  better  make  the  best  of 
your  way  back  again.  See,  there  is  a  great  griffin  asleep  in 
the  other  corner  of  the  cave,  and  if  he  wakes,  he  will  either 
eat  you  up  or  make  you  his  servant,  as  he  has  made  me." 

"  I  know  what  you  would  tell  me,"  says  the  little  dog  ; 
"  and  I  have  come  down  here  to  deliver  you.  The  stone  is 
now  gone  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  go  back  with  me.     Come,  brother  come." 

The  dog  was  very  much  excited  by  this  address.  "  Don't 
ask  me,  my  dear  little  friend,"  said  he  ;  "  you  must  be  aware 
that  I  should  be  too  happy  to  escape  out  of  this  cold  cave, 
and  roll  on  the  soft  turf  once  more  :  but  if  I  leave  my  master, 
the  griffin,  those  cursed  serpents,  who  are  always  on  the 
watch,  will  come  in  and  steal   his   treasure — nay,   perhaps. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  87 

Sting  him  to  death."  Then  the  little  dog  came  up  to  the 
waich-dog,  and  remonstrated  with  him  greatly,  and  licked 
him  caressingly  on  both  sides  of  his  face;  and,  taking  him 
by  the  ear  endeav^ored  to  draw  him  from  the  treasure  :  but 
the  dog  would  not  stir  a  stej^,  though  his  heart  sorely  pressed 
him.  At  length  the  little  dog,  findin'^  it  all  in  vain,  said, 
*'  Well  then,  if  I  must  leave,  good-by ;  but  I  have  become  so 
hungry  in  coming  down  all  this  way  after  you,  that  I  wish  you 
would  give  me  one  of  those  bones  i  they  smell  very  pleasant- 
ly, and  one  out  of  so  many  could  never  be  missed." 

"  Alas!"  said  the  watch-dog,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "how 
unlucky  I  am  to  have  eaten  up  the  bone  my  master  gave  me, 
otherwise  you  should  have  had  it  and  welcome.  But  I  can't 
give  you  one  of  these,  because  my  master  has  made  me  prom- 
ise to  watch  over  them  all,  and  I  have  given  him  my  paw  on 
it.  I  am  sure  a  dog  of  your  respectable  appearance  will  say 
nothing  further  on  the  subject." 

Then  the  little  dog  answered  pettishly,  "  Pooh,  what  non- 
sense you  talk  !  Surely  a  great  griffin  can't  miss  a  little  bone 
fit  for  me  ;  "  and  nestling  his  nose  under  the  watch-dog,  he 
tried  forthwith  to  bring  up  one  of  the  bones. 

On  this  the  watch-dog  grew  angry,  and,  though  with  much 
reluctance,  he  seized  the  Tttle  dog  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck  ard  threw  him  off,  but  without  hurting  him.  Suddenly 
the  little  dog  changed  into  a  monstrous  serpent,  bigger  even 
than  the  griffin  himself,  and  the  watch-dog  barked  with  all 
his  might.  The  griffin  rose  in  a  great  hurry,  and  the  serpent 
s|jrang  upon  him  ere  he  was  well  awake.  I  wish  dearest 
N\mphalin,  you  could  have  seen  the  battle  between  the 
griffin  and  the  serpent,  how  they  coiled  and  twisted,  and  bit 
and  darted  their  fiery  tongues  at  each  other.  At  length,  the 
ser])ent  got  uppermost,  and  was  about  to  plunge  his  tongue 
iiuo  that  part  of  the  griffin  which  is  unprotected  by  his  scales, 
wJ^.en  the  dog,  seizing  him  by  the  tail,  bit  him  so  sharply,  that 
lie  could  not  help  turning  round  to  kill  his  new  assailant,  and 
the  griffin,  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  caught  the 
serpent  by  the  throat  with  both  claws,  and  fairly  strangled 
him.  As  soon  as  the  griffin  had  recovered  from  the  ner- 
vousness of  the  conflict,  he  heaped  all  manner  of  caresses 
on  the  dog  for  saving  his  life.  The  dog  told  him  the  whole 
story,  and  the  griffin  then  explained,  that  the  dead  snake  was 
the  king  of  the  serpents,  who  had  the  power  to  change  him- 
self into  any  shape  he  pleased.  "  If  he  had  tempted  you," 
said  he,  "  to  leave  the  treasure  but  for  one  moment,  or  to 


88  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

have  given  him  any  part  of  it,  ay,  but  a  single  bone,  he  would 
have  crushed  you  in  an  instant,  and  stung  me  to  death  ere  I 
could  hav^e  waited  ;  but  none,  no  not  the  most  venomous 
thing  in  creation,  has  power  to  hurt  the  honest  !  " 

"  That  has  always  been  my  belief,"  answered  the  dog  ; 
"  and  now,  sir,  you  had  better  go  to  sleep  again,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me." 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  griffin,  "  I  have  no  longer  need  of 
a  servant ;  for  now  that  the  king  of  the  serpents  is  dead,  the 
rest  will  never  molest  me.  It  was  only  to  satisfy  his  avarice 
that  his  subjects  dared  to  brave  the  den  of  the  griffin." 

Upon  hearing  this,  the  dog  was  exceedingly  delighted  ; 
and  raising  himself  on  his  hind  paws,  he  begged  the  griffin 
most  movingly  to  let  him  return  to  earth,  to  visit  his  mis- 
tress the  cat,  and  worry  his  rival  the  fox. 

"  You  do  not  serve  an  ungrateful  master,"  answered  the 
griffin.  "  You  shall  return,  and  I  will  teach  you  all  the  craft 
of  our  race,  which  is  much  craftier  than  the  race  of  that  pet 
tifogger  the  fox,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to  cope  with  your 
rival." 

"  Ah,  excuse  me,"  said  the  dog,  hastily,  "  I  am  equally 
obliged  to  you  :  but  1  fancy  honesty  is  a  match  for  cunning 
any  day  ;  and  I  think  myself  a  great  deal  safer  in  being  a 
dog  of  honor  than  if  I  knew  all  the  tricks  in  the  world." 

"  Well,"  said  the  griffin,  a  little  piqued  at  the  dog's  blunt- 
ness,  "  do  as  you  please  :  I  wish  you  all  possible  success." 

Then  the  griffin  opened  a  secret  door  in  the  side  of  the 
cavern,  and  the  dog  saw  a  broad  path  that  led  at  once  into 
the  wood.  He  thanked  the  griffin  with  all  his  heart,  and  ran 
wagging  his  tail  into  the  open  moonlight.  "Ah,  ah!  master 
fox,"  said  he,  "  there's  no  trap  for  an  honest  dog  that  has  not 
two  doors  to  it,  cunning  as  you  think  yourself." 

With  that  he  curled  his  tail  gallantly  over  his  left  leg,  and 
set  off  on  a  long  trot  to  the  cat's  house.  When  he  was  within 
sight  of  it,  he  stopped  to  refresh  himself  by  a  pool  of  water, 
and  who  should  be  there  but  our  friend  the  magpie. 

"  And  what  do  you  want,  friend  .''  "  said  she,  rather  dis- 
dainfully, for  the  dog  looked  somewhat  out  of  case  after  his 
journe3^ 

•'  I  am  going  to  see  my  cousin  the  cat,"  answered  he. 

"  Your  cousin  !  marry  come  up,"  said  the  magpie  ;  "  don't 
you  know  she  is  going  to  be  married  to  Reynard  the  fox  ? 
This  is  not  a  time  for  her  to  receive  the  visits  of  a  brute  like 
you." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  89 

These  words  put  the  clog  in  such  a  passion,  that  he  very 
nearly  bit  the  magpie  for  her  uncivil  mode  of  communicating 
such  bad  news.  However,  he  curbed  his  temper,  and,  with- 
out answering  her,  went  at  once  to  the  cat's  residence. 

The  cat  was  sitting  at  the  window,  and  no  sooner  did  the 
dog  see  her  than  he  fairly  lost  his  heart ;  never  had  he  seen 
so  charming  a  cat  before  :  he  advanced,  wagging  his  tail, 
and  with  his  most  insinuating  air ;  when  the  cat,  getting  up, 
clapped  the  window  in  his  face — and  lo  !  Reynard  the  fox- 
appeared  in  her  stead. 

"  Come    out,   thou  rascal !  "  said  the   dog,  showing  his 
teeth  :  "  come  out,  I  challenge  thee  to  single  combat ;  I  have 
not  forgiven  thy  malice,  and  thou  seest  that  I  am  no  longer 
shut  up  in  the  cave,  and  unable  to  punish  thee  for  thy  wick 
edness." 

"  Go  home,  silly  one  !  "  answered  the  fox.  sneering  ;  "  thou 
hast  no  business  here,  and  as  for  fighting  thee — bah  !  "  Then 
the  fox  left  the  window,  and  disappeared.  But  the  dog, 
thoroughly  enraged,  scratched  lustily  at  the  door,  and  made 
such  a  noise,  that  presently  the  cat  herself  came  to  the 
window. 

"  How  now  !  "  said  she,  angrily ;  "  what  means  all  this 
rudeness  ?  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  at  my 
house  .'' " 

"  O,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  the  dog,  "  do  not  speak  so 
severely.  Know  that  I  am  come  here  on  purpose  to  pay  you 
a  visit ;  and,  whatever  you  do,  let  me  beseech  you  not  to  listen 
to  that  villain  Reynard — you  have  no  conception  what  a 
rogue  he  is  !  " 

"  What !  "  said  the  cat,  blushing  ;  "  do  you  dare  to  abuse 
your  betters  in  this  fashion  ?  I  see  you  have  a  design  on 
me.     Go,  this  instant,  or " 

"  Enough,  madam,"  said  the  dog,  proudly ;  "  you  need 
not  speak  twice  to  me — farewell." 

And  he  turned  away  ver}-  slowl}^,  and  went  under  a  tree, 
where  he  took  up  his  lodgings  for  the  night.  But  the  next 
morning  there  was  an  amazing  commotion  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  a  stranger,  of  a  very  different  style  of  travelling  from 
that  of  the  dog,  had  arrived  at  the  dead  of  night,  and  fixed 
his  abode  in  a  large  cavern,  hollowed  out  of  a  steep  rock. 
The  noise  he  had  made  in  flying  through  the  air  was  so  great, 
that  it  had  awakened  every  bird  and  beast  in  the  parish  ;  and 
Reynard,  whose  bad  conscience  never  suffered  him  to  sleep 
very  soundly,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  perceived, 


90 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


to  his  great  alarm,  that  the  stranger  was  nothing  less  than  a 
monstrous  griffin. 

Now  the  griffins  are  the  richest  beasts  in  the  world  ;  and 
that's  the  reason  they  keep  so  close  under  ground.  When- 
ever it  does  happen  that  they  pay  a  visit  above,  it  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  easily  forgotten. 

The  magpie  was  all  agitation — what  could  the  griffin  pos- 
sibly want  there  ?  She  resolved  to  take  a  peep  at  the  cavern, 
and  accordingly,  she  hopped  timorously  up  the  rock,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  picking  up  sticks  for  her  nest. 

"  Holla,  ma'am  !  "  cried  a  very  rough  voice,  and  she  saw 
the  griffin  putting  his  head  out  of  the  cavern.  "  Holla  !  you 
are  the  very  lady  I  want  to  see  ;  you  know  all  the  people 
about  here — eh  ?  " 

"  All  the  best  company,  your  lordship,  I  certainly  do," 
answered  the  magpie,  dropping  a  courtesy. 

Upon  this  the  griffin  walked  out ;  and  smoking  his  pipe 
leisurely  in  the  open  air,  in  order  to  set  the  pie  at  her  ease, 
continued — 

"  Are  there  any  respectable  beasts  of  good  families  settled 
in  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  O,  most  elegant  society,  I  assure  your  lordship,"  cried 
the  pie.  "  I  have  lived  here  myself  these  ten  years,  and  the 
great  heiress,  the  cat  yonder,  attracts  a  vast  number  of 
strangers." 

"  Humph — heiress,  indeed  !  much  you  know  about  heir- 
esses !  "  said  the  griffin.  "  There  is  only  one  heiress  in  the 
world  and  that  is  my  daughter." 

"  Bless  me  !  has  your  lordship  a  family }  I  beg  you  a 
thousand  pardons.  But  I  only  saw  your  lordship's  own 
equipage  last  night,  and  did  not  know  you  brought  any  one 
with  you." 

"  My  daughter  went  first,  and  was  safely  lodged  before  I 
arrived.  She  did  not  disturb  you,  I  daresay,  as  I  did ;  foi 
she  sails  along  like  a  swan  :  but  I  have  the  gout  in  my  left 
claw,  and  that's  the  reason  I  puff  and  groan  so  in  taking  a 
journey." 

"  Shall  I  drop  in  upon  Miss  Griffin,  and  see  how  she  is 
after  her  journey .''  "  said  the  pie,  advancing. 

"  I  thank  you,  no.  I  don't  intend  her  to  be  seen  while  I 
stay  here — it  unsettles  her  ;  and  I'm  afraid  of  the  young 
beasts  running  away  with  her  if  they  once  heard  how  hand- 
some she  was  :  she  is  the  living  picture  of  me,  but  she  is 
monstrous  giddy  !     Not  that  I  should  care  much  if  she  did 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  gi 

go  off  with  a  beast  of  degree,  were  I  not  obliged  to  pay  hei 
portion,  which  is  prodigious  ;  and  I  don't  hke  parting  with 
money,  ma'am,  when  I've  once  got  it.     Ho,  ho,  ho  !  " 

"  You  are  too  witty,  my  lord.  But  if  you  refused  your 
consent  ?"  said  the  pie,  anxious  to  know  the  whole  family 
history  of  so  grand  a  seigneur. 

"  I  should  have  to  pay  the  dowry  all  the  same.  It  was 
left  her  by  her  uncle  the  dragon.  But  don't  let  this  go  any 
farther." 

"  Your  lordship  may  depend  on  my  secrecy.  I  wish  your 
lordship  a  very  good  morning." 

Away  flew  the  pie,  and  she  did  not  stop  till  she  got  to  the 
cat's  house.  The  cat  and  the  fox  were  at  breakfast,  and  the 
fox  had  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  Beautiful  scene  ! "  cried 
the  pie  :  the  cat  colored,  and  bade  the  pie  take  a  seat. 

I'hen  off  went  the  pie's  tongue,  glib,  glib,  glib,  chatter, 
chatter,  chatter.  She  related  to  them  the  whole  story  of  the 
grilhn  and  his  daughter,  and  a  great  deal  more  besides,  that 
the  grifhn  had  never  told  her. 

The  cat  listened  attentively.  Another  young  heiress  in 
the  neighborhood  might  be  a  formidable  rival.  "  But  is  the 
grififiness  handsome  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Handsome  !  "  cried  the  pie  ;  "  oh  !  if  you  could  have 
seen  the  father  ! — such  a  mouth,  such  eyes,  such  a  complexion 
and  he  declares  she's  the  living  picture  of  himself !  But  what 
do  you  say,  Mr.  Reynard  1  you,  who  have  been  so  much  in 
the  world,  have,  perhaps,  seen  the  young  lady  !  " 

"  Why,  I  can't  say  I  have,  "  answered  the  fox,  waking 
from  a  reverie  ;  "  but  she  must  be  wonderfully  rich.  1  dare- 
say that  fool,  the  dog,  will  be  making  up  to  her.  " 

"  Ah  !  by  the  way,  "  said  the  pie;  "  what  a  fuss  he  made 
at  your  door  yesterday  ;  why  would  you  not  admit  him,  my 
dear !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  cat,  demurely,  "  Mr.  Reynard  says  that 
he  is  a  dog  of  very  bad  character,  quite  a  fortune-hunter ;  and 
hiding  the  most  dangerous  disposition  to  bite  under  an  ap- 
pearance of  good-nature.  I  hope  he  won't  be  quarrelsome 
with  you,  dear  Reynard  !  " 

"  With  me  ?  O  the  poor  wretch,  no ! — he  might  bluster  a 
little  ;  but  he  knows  that  if  I'm  once  angry  I'm  a  devil  at  bit- 
ing ; — but  one  should  not  boast  of  oneself.  " 

In  the  evening  Reynard  felt  a  strange  desire  to  go  and 
see  the  griffin  smoking  his  pipe  ;  but  what  could  he  do  ?  There 
was  the  dog  under  the  opposite  tree  evidently  watching  for 


^2  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

him,  and  Reynard  had  no  wish  to  prove  himself  that  devil  al 
biting  which  he  declared  he  was.  At  last  he  resolved  to  have 
recourse  to  stratagem  to  get  rid  of  the  dog. 

A  young  buck  of  a  rabbit,  a  sort  of  provincial  fop,  had 
looked  in  upon  his  cousin  the  cat,  to  pay  her  his  respects, 
and  Reynard,  taking  him  aside,  said,  "  You  see  that  shabby- 
looking  dog  under  the  tree  ?  He  has  behaved  very  ill  to 
your  cousin  the  cat,  and  you  certainly  ought  to  challenge  him. 
Forgive  my  boldness — nothing  but  respect  for  your  character 
induces  me  to  take  so  great  a  liberty ;  you  know  I  would 
chastise  the  rascal  myself,  but  what  a  scandal  it  would  make  ! 
If  I  were  already  married  to  your  cousin,  it  would  be  a  dif- 
ferent thing.  But  you  know  what  a  story  that  cursed  magpie 
would  hatch  out  of  it !  " 

The  rabbit  looked  very  foolish  :  he  assured  the  fox  that  he 
was  no  match  for  the  dog  ;  that  he  was  very  fond  of  his  cousin, 
to  be  sure  ;  but  he  saw  no  necessity  to  interfere  with  her  domes- 
tic affairs  ; — and,  in  short,  he  tried  all  he  possibly  could  to 
get  out  of  the  scrape  :  but  the  fox  so  artfully  played  on  his 
vanity — so  earnestly  assured  him  that  the  dog  was  the  big- 
gest coward  in  the  world,  and  would  make  a  humble  apology, 
and  so  eloquently  represented  to  him  the  glory  he  would  ob- 
tain for  manifesting  so  much  spirit,  that  at  length  that  rabbit 
was  persuaded  to  go  out  and  deliver  the  challenge. 

"  I'll  be  your  secoud,  "  said  the  fox;  "and  the  great 
field  on  the  other  side  the  wood,  two  miles  hence,  shall  be 
the  place  of  battle  :  there  we  shall  be  out  of  observation. 
You  go  first,  I'll  follow  in  half  an  hour —  and  I  say —  hark  ! — 
in  case  he  does  accept  the  challenge,  and  you  feel  the  1.  ast 
afraid,  I'll  be  in  the  field,  and  take  it  off  your  paws  with  he 
utmost  pleasure  ;  rely  on  vie,  my  dear  sir  !  " 

Away  went  the  rabbit.  The  dog  was  a  little  astonished 
at  the  temerity  of  the  poor  creature  ;  but  on  hearing  that  the 
fox  was  to  be  present, willingly  consented  to  repair  to  the  place 
of  conflict.  This  readiness  the  rabbit  did  not  at  all  relish  ; 
he  went  very  slowly  to  the  field,  and  seeing  no  fox  there,  his 
heart  misgave  him,  and  while  the  dog  was  putting  his  nose 
to  the  ground  to  try  if  he  could  track  the  coming  of  the  ^ox, 
the  rabbit  slipped  into  a  burrow,  and  left  the  dog  to  \  alk 
back  again. 

Meanwhile  the  fox  was  already  at  the  rock  ;  he  walked 
very  soft-footedly,  and  looked  about  with  extreme  caution, 
for  he  had  a  vague  notion  that  a  griffin-papa  would  not  be 
very  civil  to  foxes. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  93 

Now  there  were  two  holes  in  the  rock — one  below,  one 
above,  an  upper  stoiy  and  an  under ;  and  while  the  fox  was 
peering  about,  he  saw  a  great  claw  from  the  upper  rock 
beckoning  to  him. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  said  the  fox,  "  that's  the  wanton  young  grifhn' 
ess,  I'll  swear." 

He  approached,  and  a  voice  said, — 

"  Charming  Mr.  Reynard  !  Do  you  not  think  you  could 
deliver  an  unfortunate  griffiness  from  a  barbarous  confine- 
ment in  this  rock  ?  " 

'•  Oh  heavens  !  "  cried  the  fox,  tenderly,  "  what  a  beauti- 
ful voice  !  and,  ah,  my  poor  heart,  what  a  lovely  claw  !  Is  it 
possible  that  I  hear  the  daughter  of  my  lord,  the  great 
griffin  ?  " 

"  Hush,  flatterer  !  not  so  loud,  if  you  please.  My  father 
is  taking  an  evening  stroll,  and  is  very  quick  of  hearing.  He 
has  tied  me  up  by  my  poor  wings  in  the  cavern,  for  he  is 
mightily  afraid  of  some  beast  running  away  with  me.  You 
know  I  have  all  my  fortune  settled  on  myself." 

"  Talk  not  of  fortune,"  said  the  fox  ;  "  but  how  can  I  de- 
liver you  }     Shall  I  enter  and  gnaw  the  cord  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  answered  the  griffiness,  "  it  is  an  immense  chain 
I  am  bound  with.  However,  you  may  come  in,  and  talk 
more  at  your  ease." 

The  fox  peeped  cautiously  all  round,  and  seeing  no  sign 
of  the  griffin,  he  entered  the  lower  cave  and  stole  upstairs  to 
the  upper  stor}^ ;  but  as  he  went  on,  he  saw  immense  piles  of 
jewels  and  gold,  and  all  sorts  of  treasure,  so  that  the  old 
griffin  might  well  have  laughed  at  the  poor  cat  being  called 
an  heiress.  The  fox  was  greatly  pleased  at  such  indisputable 
signs  of  wealth,  and  he  entered  the  upper  cave,  resolved  to 
be  transported  with  the  charms  of  the  griffiness. 

There  was,  however,  a  great  chasm  between  the  landing- 
place  and  the  spot  where  the  young  lady  was  chained,  and  he 
found  it  impossible  to  pass  ;  the  cavern  was  very  dark,  but 
he  saw  enough  of  the  figure  of  the  griffiness  to  perceive,  in 
spite  of  her  petticoat,  that  she  was  the  image  of  her  father, 
and  the  most  hideous  heiress  that  the  earth  ever  saw  ! 

However,  he  swallowed  his  disgust,  and  poured  forth  such 
a  heap  of  compliments  that  the  griffiness  appeared  entirely 
won.  He  implored  her  to  fly  with  him  the  first  moment  she 
was  unchained. 

"  That  is  impossible,"  said  she    "  for  my  father  never 


Q^  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

unchains  me  except  in  his  presence,  and  then  I  cannot  stii 
out  of  his  sight." 

"  The  wretch  !  "  cried  Reynard,  "  what  is  to  be  done  ? " 

"  Why,  there  is  only  one  thing  I  know  of,"  answered  the 
griffiness,  "  which  is  this — I  always  make  his  soup  for 
him,  and  if  I  could  mix  something  in  it  that  would  put 
him  fast  asleep  before  he  had  time  to  chain  me  up  again,  I 
might  slip  down  and  carry  off  all  the  treasure  below  on  my 
back." 

"  Chawning  !  "  exclaimed  Reynard  ;  "  what  invention  1 
what  wit  !     I  will  go  and  get  some  poppies  directly." 

"Alas!"  said  the  griffiness,  "poppies  have  no  effect 
upon  griffins.  The  only  thing  that  can  ever  put  my  father 
fast  to  sleep  is  a  nice  young  cat  boiled  up  in  his  soup  ;  it  is 
astonishing  what  a  charm  that  has  upon  him  !  But  where  to 
get  a  cat  ? — it  must  be  a  maiden  cat  too  !  " 

Reynard  was  a  little  startled  at  so  singular  an  opiate.. 
"  But,"  thought  he,  "  griffins  are  not  like  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  so  rich  an  heiress  is  not  to  be  won  by  ordinary 


means." 


"  I  do  know  a  cat — a  maiden  cat,"  said  he,  after  a 
short  pause  ;  "  but  I  feel  a  little  repugnance  at  the  thought 
of  having  her  boiled  in  the  griffin's  soup.  Would  not  a  dog 
do  as  V  ell  ?  " 

"  Ah,  base  thing  ! "  said  the  griffiness,  appearing  to 
weep,  "  you  are  in  love  with  the  cat,  I  see  it ;  go  _  and 
marry  her,  poor  dwarf  that  she  is,  and  leave  me  to  die  of 
grief." 

In  vain  the  fox  protested  that  he  did  not  care  a  straw  for 
the  cat ;  nothing  could  now  appease  the  griffiness,  but  his 
positive  assurance  that,  come  what  would,  poor  puss 
should  be  brought  to  the  cave  and  boiled  for  the  griffin's 
soup. 

"  But  how  will  you  get  her  here  ?  "  said  the  griffiness. 

"  Ah,  leave  that  to  me,"  said  Reynard.  *'  Only  put  a 
basket  out  of  the  window,  and  draw  it  up  by  a  cord  ;  the 
moment  it  arrives  at  the  window,  be  sure  to  clap  your  claw 
on  the  cat  at  once,  for  she  is  terribly  active." 

"  Tush !  "  answered  the  heiress  ;  "  a  pretty  griffiness  I 
should  be  if  I  did  not  know  how  to  catch  a  cat  !  " 

"  But  this  must  be  when  your  father  is  out  ? "  said 
Reynard. 

"  Certainly,  he  takes  a  stroll  every  evening  at  sui> 
set." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


9S 


"  Let  it  be  to-morrow,  then,"  said  Reynard,  impatient  for 
the  treasure. 

This  being  arranged,  Reynard  thought  it  time  to  decamp 
He  stole  down  the  stairs  again,  and  tried  to  filch  some  of  the 
treasure  by  the  way  :  but  it  was  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry, 
and  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  the  treasure  without  taking  the 
griffiness  (whose  back  seemed  prodigiously  strong)  into  the 
bargain. 

He  returned  home  to  the  cat,  and  when  he  entered  her 
house,  and  saw  how  ordinary  everything  looked  after  the 
jewels  in  the  griffin's  cave,  he  quite  wondered  how  he 
had  ever  thought  the  cat  had  the  least  pretensions  to  good 
looks. 

However,  he  concealed  his  wicked  design,  and  his  mis- 
tress thought  he  had  never  appeared  so  amiable. 

"  Only  guess,"  said  he,  "  where  I  have  been  ? — to  our 
new  neighbor,  the  griffin  ;  a  most  charming  person,  thorough- 
ly affable,  and  quite  the  air  of  the  court.  As  for  that  silly 
magpie,  the  griffin  saw  her  character  at  once  ;  and  it  was  all 
a  hoax  about  his  daughter  :  he'  has  no  daughter  at  all.  You 
know,  my  dear,  hoaxing  is  a  fashionable  amusement  among 
the  great.  He  says  he  has  heard  of  nothing  but  your  beauty, 
and  on  my  telling  him  we  were  going  to  be  married,  he  has 
insisted  upon  giving  a  great  ball  and  supper  in  honor  of  the 
event.  In  fact,  he  is  a  gallant  old  fellow,  and  dying  to  see 
you.     Of  course,  I  was  obliged  to  accept  the  invitation." 

"  Yo\i  could  not  do  otherwise,"  said  the  unsuspecting 
young  creature,  who,  as  I  before  said,  was  very  susceptible 
to  flattery. 

"  And  only  think  how  delicate  his  attentions  are,"  said 
the  fox.  "  As  he  is  very  badly  lodged  for  a  beast  of  his 
rank,  and  his  treasure  takes  up  the  whole  of  the  ground-floor, 
he  is  forced  to  give  the  fete  in  the  upper  story,  so  he  hangs 
out  a  basket  for  his  guests,  and  draws  them  up  with  his  own 
claw.    How  condescending  !    But  the  great  are  so  amiable  !  " 

The  cat,  brought  up  in  seclusion,  was  all  delight  at  the 
idea  of  seeing  such  high  life,  and  the  lovers  talked  of  nothing 
else  all  the  next  day  ; — when  Reynard,  towards  evening,  put- 
ting his  head  out  of  the  window,  saw  his  old  friend,  the  dog, 
lying  as  usual  and  watching  him  very  grimly.  "  Ah,  that 
cursed  creature  !  I  had  quite  forgotten  him  ;  what  is  to  be 
done  now  ?  He  would  make  no  bones  of  me  if  he  once  saw 
me  set  foot  out  of  doors." 


^6  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

With  that,  the  fox  began  to  cast  in  his  head  how  he 
should  get  rid  of  his  rival,  and  at  length,  he  resolved  on  a 
very  notable  project  :  he  desired  the  cat  to  set  out  first, 
and  wait  for  him  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  a  little  way  off.  "  For," 
said  he,  "  if  we  go  together,  we  shall  certainly  be  insulted  by 
the  dog  ;  and  he  will  know  that,  in  the  presence  of  a  lady, 
the  custom  of  a  beast  of  my  fashion  v/ill  not  suffer  me  to 
avenge  the  affront.  But  when  I  am  alone,  the  creature  is 
such  a  coward  that  he  would  not  dare  say  his  soul's  his  own  ; 
leave  the  door  open,  and  I'll  follow  immediately." 

The  cat's  mind  was  so  completely  poisoned  against  her 
cousin,  that  she  implicitly  believed  this  account  of  his  char- 
acter, and  accordingly,  with  many  recommendations  to  lier 
lover  not  to  sully  his  dignity  by  getting  into  any  sort  of  quar- 
rel with  the  dog,  she  set  oft'  first. 

The  dog  went  up  to  her  very  humbly,  and  begged  her  to 
allow  him  to  say  a  few  words  to  her ;  but  she  received  him 
so  haughtily  that  his  spirit  was  up,  and  he  walked  back  to 
the  tree  more  than  ever  enraged  against  his  rival.  But  what 
was  his  joy  when  he  saw  that  the  cat  had  left  the  door  open  ! 
"  Now,  wretch,"  thought  he,  "you  cannot  escape  me  !  "  So 
he  walked  briskly  in  at  the  back  door.  He  was  greatly  sur- 
prised to  see  Reynard  lying  down  in  the  straw,  panting  as  if 
his  heart  would  break,  and  rolling  his  eyes  in  the  pangs  of 
death. 

"  Ah,  friend,"  said  the  fox,  with  a  faltering  voice,  "  you 
are  avenged ;  my  hour  is  come  !  I  am  just  going  to  give  up 
the  ghost  ;  put  your  paw  upon  mine,  and  say  you  forgive  me." 

Despite  his  anger,  the  generous  dog  could  not  set  tooth 
on  a  dying  foe. 

"  You  have  served  me  a  shabby  trick,"  said  he  ;  "  you 
have  left  me  to  starve  in  a  hole,  and  you  have  evidently 
maligned  me  with  my  cousin :  certainly  I  meant  to  be 
avenged  on  vou  ;  but  if  you  are  really  dying,  that  alters  the 
affair." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  groaned  the  fox  very  bitterjy;  "  I  am  past 
help ;  the  poor  cat  is  gone  for  Doctor  Ape,  but  he'll  never 
come  in  time.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a  bad  conscience 
on  one's  deathbed  !  But,  wait  till  the  cat  returns,  and  I'D 
do  you  full  justice  with  her  before  I  die." 

The  good-natured  dog  was  much  moved  at  seeing  his 
mortal  enemy  in  such  a  state,  and  endeavored  as  well  as  he 
could  to  console  him. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  the  fox ;  "  I  am  so  parched  in  the  throat 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


97 


— I  am  burning ;  "  and  he  hung  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  rolled  his  eyes  more  fearfully  than  ever. 

"  Is  there  no  water  here  ?  "  said  the  dog,  looking  round. 

*'  Alas,  no  ! — yet  stay — yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  is 
some  in  that  little  hole  in  the  wall  ;  but  how  to  get  at  it  ?  It 
is  so  high  that  I  can't,  in  my  poor  weak  state,  climb  up  to  it ; 
and  I  dare  not  ask  such  a  favor  of  one  I  have  injured  so 
much." 

"  Don't  talk  of  it,"  said  the  dog  :  "  but  the  hole's  very 
small  ;  I  could  not  put  my  nose  through  it." 

"  No ;  but  if  you  just  climb  up  on  that  stone,  and  thrust 
your  paw  into  the  hole — you  can  dip  it  into  the  water,  and  so 
cool  my  poor  parched  mouth.  Oh,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have 
a  bad  conscience  !  " 

The  dog  sprang  upon  the  stone,  and,  getting  on  his  hind 
legs,  thrust  his  front  paw  into  the  hole,  when  suddenly  Rey- 
nard pulled  a  string  that  he  had  concealed  under  the  straw, 
and  the  dog  found  his  paw  caught  tight  to  the  wall  in  a  run- 


nmg  noose. 


Ah,  rascal  !  "  said  he,  turning  round  ;  but  the  fox 
leaped  up  gayly  from  the  straw,  and  fastening  the  string  with 
his  teeth  to  a  nail  in  the  other  end  of  the  wall,  walked  out, 
crying,  "  Good-bye,  my  dear  friend  :  have  a  care  how  you 
believe  hereafter  in  sudden  conversions  1  "  So  he  left  the 
dog  on  his  hind  legs  to  take  care  of  the  house. 

Reynard  found  the  cat  waiting  for  him  where  he  had  ap- 
pointed, and  they  walked  lovingly  together  till  they  came  to 
the  cave.  It  was  now  dark,  and  they  saw  the  basket  w-aiting 
below  ;  the  fox  assisted  the  poor  cat  into  it.  "  There  is  only 
room  for  one,"  said  he,  "  you  must  go  first."  Up  rose  the 
basket ;  the  fox  heard  a  piteous  mew,  and  no  more. 

"  So  much  for  the  griffin's  soup  !  "  thought  he. 

He  waited  patiently  for  some  time,  when  the  griffiness, 
waving  her  claw  from  the  window,  said  cheerfully,  "All's 
right,  my  dear  Reynard  ;  my  papa  has  finished  his  soup,  and 
sleeps  as  sound  as  a  rock.  All  the  noise  in  the  world  would 
not  wake  him  now,  till  he  has  slept  off  the  boiled  cat,  which 
won't  be  these  twelve  hours.  Come  and  assist  me  in  packing 
up  the  treasure ;  I  should  be  sorrv  to  leave  a  single  diamond 
behind." 

"  So  should  I,"  quoth  the  fox.  "  Stay,  I'll  come  around 
by  the  lower  hole  :  why,  the  door's  shut  I  Pray,  beautiful 
griffiness,  open  it  to  thy  impatient  adorer." 

'*  Alas  I  my  father  has  hid  the  key.     I  never  know  where 


^8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

he  places  it :  5'ou  must  come  up  by  the  basket ;  see,  I  will 
lower  it  for  you." 

The  fox  was  a  little  loth  to  trust  himself  in  the  same  con 
veyance  that  had  taken  his  mistress  to  be  boiled  ;  but  the 
most  cautious  grow  rash  when  money's  to  be  gained,  and  ava- 
rice can  trap  even  a  fox.  So  he  put  himself  as  comfortably 
as  he  could  in  the  basket,  and  up  he  went  in  an  instant.  It 
rested,  however,  just  before  he  reached  the  window,  and  the 
fox  felt,  with  a  slight  shudder,  the  claw  of  the  griffiness  strok- 
ing his  back. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  coat !  "  quoth  she,  caressingly. 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  said  the  fox  ;  "  but  you  can  feel  it 
more  at  your  leisure  when  I  am  once  up.  Make  haste,  I  be- 
seech you." 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  bushy  tail  !  Never  did  I  feel  such 
a  tail !  " 

"  It  is  entirely  at  your  service,  sweet  griffiness,"  said  the 
fox  ;  **  but  pray  let  me  in.     Why  lose  an  instant  ?  " 

"  No,  never  did  I  feel  such  a  tail !  No  wonder  you  are  so 
successful  with  the  ladies." 

"  Ah,  beloved  grifhness,  my  tail  is  yours  to  eternity,  but 
you  pinch  it  a  little  too  hard." 

Scarcely  had  he  said  this,  when  down  dropped  the  basket, 
but  not  with  the  fox  in  it ;  he  found  himself  caught  by  the 
tail,  and  dangling  half-way  down  the  rock,  by  the  help  of  the 
very  same  sort  of  pulley  wherewith  he  had  snared  the  dog.  I 
leave  you  to  guess  his  consternation  ;  he  yelped  out  as  loud 
as  he  could, — for  it  hurts  a  fox  exceedingly  to  be  hanged  by 
his  tail  with  his  head  downwards, — when  the  door  of  the 
rock  opened,  and  out  stalked  the  griffin  himself,  smoking  his 
pipe,  with  a  vast  crowd  of  all  the  fashionable  beasts  in  the 
neighborhood. 

"  O  ho,  brother,"  said  the  bear,  laughing  fit  to  kill  himself ; 
"  who  ever  saw  a  fox  hanged  by  the  tail  before  ?  " 

"  You'll  have  need  of  a  physician,"  quoth  Doctor  Ape. 

"  A  pretty  match,  indeed  ;  a  griffiness  for  such  a  creature 
as  you  !  "  said  the  goat,  strutting  by  him. 

The  fox  grinned  with  pain,  and  said  nothing.  But  that 
which  hurt  him  most  was  the  compassion  of  a  dull  fool  of  a 
donkey,  who  assured  him  with  great  gravity  that  he  saw  noth- 
ing at  all  to  laugh  at  in  his  situation  ! 

"  At  all  events,"  said  the  fox,  at  last,  "  cheated,  gulled, 
betrayed  as  I  am,  I  have  played  the  same  trick  to  the  dog 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


99 


Go,  and  laugh  at  him,  gentlemen  ;  he  deserves  it  as  much  as 
I  can,  I  assure  you." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  griffin,  taking  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth  ;  "  one  never  laughs  at  the  honest," 

"  And  see,"  said  the  bear,  "  here  he  is." 

And  indeed  the  dog  had,  after  much  effort,  gnawed  the 
string  in  two,  and  extricated  his  paw  :  the  scent  of  the  fox 
had  enabled  him  to  track  his  footsteps,  and  here  he  arrived, 
burning  for  vengeance,  and  finding  himself  already  avenged. 

But  his  first  thought  was  for  his  dear  cousin.  "  Ah,  where 
is  she  ?  "  he  cried  movingly  ;  "  without  doubt  that  villain 
Reynard  has  served  her  some  scur\'y  trick." 

"  I  fear  so  indeed,  my  old  friend,"  answered  the  griffin. 
"  but  don't  grieve  ;  after  all,  she  was  nothing  particular.  You 
shall  marry  my  daughter  the  griffiness,  and  succeed  to  all  the 
treasure  ;  ay,  and  all  the  bones  that  you  once  guarded  so 
faithfully." 

"  Talk  not  to  me,"  said  the  faithful  dog.  "  I  want  none 
of  your  treasure  ;  and,  though  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,  your 
griffiness  may  go  to  the  devil.  I  will  run  over  the  world  but 
I  will  find  my  dear  cousin." 

"  See  her  then,"  said  the  griffin ;  and  the  beautiful  cat, 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  rushed  out  of  the  cavern  and  threw 
herself  into  the  dog's  paws. 

A  pleasant  scene  this  for  the  fox  ! — he  had  skill  enough 
in  the  female  heart  to  know  that  it  may  excuse  many  little 
infidelities — but  to  be  boiled  alive  for  a  griffin's  soup  ! — no, 
the  offence  was  inexpiable  ! 

"  You  understand  me,  Mr.  Reynard,"  said  the  griffin,  "  I 
have  no  daughter,  and  it  was  me  you  made  love  to.  Knowing 
what  sort  of  a  creature  a  magpie  is,  I  amused  myself  with 
hoaxing  her — the  fashionable  amusement  at  court,  you  know." 

The  fox  made  a  mighty  struggle,  and  leaped  on  the 
ground,  leaving  his  tail  behind  him.  It  did  not  grow  again 
in  a  hurry. 

"  See,"  said  the  griffin,  as  the  beasts  all  laughed  at  the 
figure  Reynard  made  running  into  the  wood,  "  the  dog  beats 
the  fox,  with  the  ladies,  after  all ;  and  cunning  as  he  is  in 
everything  else,  the  fox  is  the  last  creature  that  should  ever 
think  of  making  love  !  " 

"  Charming  !  "  cried  Nymphalin,  clasping  her  hands  ;  "  it 
is  just  the  sort  of  story  I  like." 

"  And  I  suppose,"   said  Nip,  pertly,  "  that  the  dog  and 


lOO  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

cat  lived  very  happily  ever  afterwards  ?     Indeed  the  nuptial 
felicity  of  a  dog  and  cat  is  proverbial !  " 

"  I  dare  say  they  lived  much  the  same  as  any  other  mar 
ried  couple,"  answered  the  prince. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  TOMB   OF   A   FATHER   OF   MANY   CHILDREIf. 

The  feast  being  now  ended,  as  well  as  the  story,  the  fai- 
ries wound  their  way  homeward  by  a  different  path,  till  at 
length  a  red  steady  light  glowed  through  the  long  basaltic 
arches  upon  them,  like  the  Demon  Hunter's  fires  in  the  For- 
est of  Pines. 

The  prince  sobered  in  his  pace.  "  You  approach."  said 
he,  in  a  grave  tone,  "  the  greatest  of  our  temples  ;  you  will 
witness  the  tomb  of  a  mighty  founder  of  our  race  !  "  An  awe 
crept  over  the  queen,  in  spite  of  herself.  Tracking  the  fires 
in  silence,  they  came  to  a  vast  space,  in  the  midst  of  which 
was  a  lone  grey  block  of  stone,  such  as  the  traveller  finds 
amidst  the  dread  silence  of  Egyptian  Thebes. 

And  on  this  stone  lay  the  gigantic  figure  of  a  man — dead, 
but  not  deathlike,  for  invisible  spells  had  preserved  the  flesh 
and  the  long  hair  for  untold  ages  ;  and  beside  him  lay  a  rude  in- 
strument of  music,  and  at  his  feet  were  a  sword  and  hunter's 
spear;  and  above,  the  rock  wound,  hollowed  and  roofless,  to 
the  upper  air,  and  daylight  came  through,  sickened  and  pale, 
beneath  red  fires,  that  burned  everlastingly  round  him,  on 
such  simple  altars  as  belonged  to  a  savage  race.  But  the 
place  was  not  solitary,  for  many  motionless,  but  not  lifeless, 
shapes  sat  on  large  blocks  of  stone  beside  the  tomb.  There 
was  the  wizard,  wrapped  in  his  long  black  mantle,  and  his  face 
covered  with  his  hands — there  was  the  uncouth  and  deformed 
dwarf,  gibbering  to  himself — there  sat  the  household  elf- 
there  glowered  from  a  gloomy  rent  in  the  wall,  with  glittering 
eyes  and  shining  scale,  the  enormous  dragon  of  the  North, 
An  aged  crone  in  rags,  leaning  on  a  staff,  and  gazing  malig- 
nantly on  the  visitors,  with  bleared  but  fiery  eyes,  stood  op- 
posite the  tomb  of  the  gigantic  dead.  And  now  the  fairies 
themselves  completed  the  group  1     But  all  was  dumb  and 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  loi 

unatterably  silent ;  the  silence  that  floats  over  some  antique 
city  of  the  desert,  when,  for  the  first  time  for  a  hundred  cen- 
turies, a  living  foot  enters  its  desolate  remains  ;  the  silence 
that  belongs  to  the  dust  of  eld — deep,  solemn,  palpable  and 
sinking  into  the  heart  with  a  leaden  and  deathlike  weight. 
Even  the  English  fairy  spoke  not;  she  held  her  breath,  and, 
gazing  on  the  tomb,  she  saw,  in  rude  vast  characters,  J 

THE   TEUTON. 

"  We  are  all  that  remain  of  his  religion  !  "  said  the  prince, 
as  they  turned  from  the  dread  temple. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Fairy's  Cave  and  the  Fairy's  Wish. 

It  was  evening ;  and  the  fairies  were  dancing  beneath  the 
twilight  star. 

"  And  why  art  thou  sad,  my  violet  ?  "  said  the  prince, 
"  for  thine  eyes  seek  the  ground  !  " 

"  Now  that  I  have  found  thee,"  answered  the  queen,  "  and 
now  that  I  feel  what  happy  love  is  to  a  fairy,  I  sigh  over 
that  love  which  I  have  lately  witnessed  among  mortals,  but 
the  bud  of  whose  happiness  already  conceals  the  worm.  For 
well  didst  thou  say,  my  prince,  that  we  are  linked  with  a 
mysterious  affinity  to  mankind,  and  whatever  is  pure  and 
gentle  among  them  speaks  at  once  to  our  sympathy,  and 
commands  our  vigils." 

"  And  most  of  all,"  said  the  German  fairy,  "are  they  who 
love  under  our  watch  ;  for  love  is  the  golden  chain  that  binds 
all  in  the  universe  :  love  lights  up  alike  the  star  and  the 
glo\vworm  ;  and,  wherever  there  is  love  in  men's  lot,  lies  the 
secret  affinity  with  men,  and  with  things  divine." 

"  But  with  the  human  race,"  said  Nymphalin,  "  there  is 
no  love  that  outlasts  the  hour,  for  either  death  ends,  or  cus- 
tom alters  :  when  the  blossom  comes  to  fruit,  it  is  plucked, 
and  seen  no  more ;  and  therefore,  when  I  behold  true  love 
sentenced  to  an  early  grave,  I  comfort  myself  that  I  shall 
not  at   least  behold  the  beauty  dimmed,  and  the  softness  of 


I02  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  heart  hardened  into  stone.  Yet,  my  prince,  while  still 
the  pulse  can  beat,  and  the  warm  blood  flow,  in  that  beauti- 
ful form,  which  I  have  watched  over  of  late,  let  me  not  de- 
sert her  ;  still  let  my  influence  keep  the  sky  fair,  and  the 
breezes  pure  ;  still  let  me  drive  the  vapor  from  the  moon, 
and  the  clouds  from  the  faces  of  the  stars ;  still  let  me  fill 
her  dreams  with  tender  and  brilliant  images,  and  glass  in  the 
mirror  of  sleep,  the  happiest  visions  of  fairyland  ;  still  let 
me  pour  over  her  eyes  that  magic,  which  suffers  them  to  see 
no  fault  in  one  in  whom  she  has  garnered  up  her  soul !  And 
as  death  comes  slowly  on,  still  let  me  rob  the  spectre  of  its 
terror,  and  the  grave  of  its  sting ; — so  that,  all  gently  and  un- 
conscious to  herself,  life  may  glide  into  the  Great  Ocean 
where  the  shadows  lie  ;  and  the  spirit  without  guile,  may  be 
severed  from  its  mansion  without  pain  !  " 
The  wish  of  the  fairy  was  fulfilled. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Banks  of  the  Rhine. — From  the  Drachenfels  to  Brohl  ;  an  Incidenl 
that  suffices  in  this  Tale  for  an  Epoch . 

From  the  Drachenfels  commences  the  true  glory  of  the 
Rhine  ;  and,  once  more,  Gertrude's  eyes  conquered  the  lan- 
guor that  crept  gradually  over  them,  as  she  gazed  on  the 
banks  around. 

Fair  blew  the  breeze,  and  freshly  curled  the  waters,  and 
Gertrude  did  not  see  the  vulture  that  had  fixed  its  talons 
within  her  breast.  The  Rhine  widens,  like  a  broad  lake,  be- 
tween the  Drachenfels  and  Unkel ;  villages  are  scattered 
over  the  extended  plain  on  the  left ;  on  the  right  is  the  Isle 
of  Werth  and  the  houses  of  Oberwinter  ;  the  hills  are  cov- 
ered with  vines ;  and  still  Gertrude  turned  back  with  a  lin- 
gering gaze  to  the  lofty  crest  of  the  Seven  Hills. 

On,  on — and  the  spires  of  Unkel  rose  above  a  curve  in 
the  banks,  and  on  the  opposite  shore  stretched  those  won- 
drous basaltic  columns  which  extend  to  the  middle  of  the 
river,  and  when  the  Rhine  runs  low,  you  may  see  them  like 
an  engulfed  city  beneath  the  waves.  You  then  view  the 
ruins  of  Okkenfels,  and  hear  the  voice  of  the  pastoral  Gas- 


THE  riLCrRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  103 

bach  pouring  its  waters  into  the  Rhine.  From  amidst  the 
clefts  of  the  roclis  the  vine  peeps  hixuriantly  forth,  and  gives 
a  richness  and  coloring  to  what  Nature,  left  to  herself,  in- 
tended for  the  stern, 

"  But  turn  your  eye  backward  to  the  right,"  said  Trevylyan  ; 
*'  those  banks  were  formerly  the  special  haunt  of  the  bold 
robbers  of  the  Rhine,  and  from  amidst  the  entangled  brakes 
that  then  covered  the  ragged  cliffs,  they  rushed  upon  their 
prey.  In  the  gloomy  canvas  of  those  feudal  days  what  vigor- 
ous and  mighty  images  were  crowded !  A  robber's  life 
amidst  these  mountains,  and  beside  this  mountain  stream, 
must  have  been  the  very  poetry  of  the  spot  carried  into 
action." 

They  rested  atBrohl,  a  small  town  between  two  mouritains. 
On  the  summit  of  one  you  see  the  gray  remains  of  Rheinech. 
There  is  something  weird  and  preternatural  about  the  aspect 
of  this  place  ;  its  soil  betrays  signs  that,  in  the  former  ages 
(from  which  even  tradition  is  fast  fading  away),  some  volcano 
here  exhausted  its  fires.  The  stratum  of  the  earth  is  black 
and  pitchy,  and  the  springs  beneath  it  are  of  a  dark  and 
graveolent  water.  Here  the  stream  of  the  Brohlbach  falls 
into  the  Rhine,  and  in  a  valley  rich  with  oak  and  pine,  and 
full  of  caverns;  which  are  not  without  their  traditionary  in- 
mates, stands  the  castle  of  Schweppenbourg,  which  our  party 
failed  not  to  visit. 

Gertrude  felt  fatigued  on  their  return,  and  Trevylyan  sat 
by  her  in  the  little  inn,  while  Vane  went  forth,  with  the 
curiosity  of  science,  to  examine  the  strata  of  the  soil. 

They' conversed  in  the  frankness  of  their  plighted  troth 
upon  those  topics  which  are  only  for  lovers  :  upon  the  bright 
chapter  in  the  history  of  their  love  ;  their  first  meeting  ;  their 
first  iinpressions  ;  the  little  incidents  in  their  present  journey 
— incidents  noticed  by  themselves  alone  ;  that  life  within 
life  which  two  persons  know  together, — which  one  knows  not 
without  the  other, — which  ceases  to  both  the  instant  they  are 
divided. 

"  I  know  not  what  the  love  of  others  may  be,"  said  Ger 
trude,  "  but  ours  seems  different  from  all  of  which  I  have 
read.  Books  tell  us  of  jealousies  and  misconstructions,  and 
the  necessity  of  an  absence,  the  sweetness  of  a  quarrel ;  but 
we,  dearest  Albert,  have  had  no  experience  of  these  passages 
in  love.  We  have  never  misunderstood  each  other ;  we  have 
no  reconciliation  to  look  back  to.  When  was  there  ever  oc- 
casion for  me   to  ask  forgiveness  from  you  ?     Our  love  is 


104  ^-^^  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

made  up  only  of  one  memory — unceasing  kindness  !  A  harsh 
■word,  a  wronging  thought,  never  broke  in  upon  the  happiness 
we  have  felt  and  feel." 

"Dearest  Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan,  "that  character  of 
our  love  is  caught  from  you ;  you,  the  soft,  the  gentle, 
have  been  its  pervading  genius ;  and  the  well  has  been 
smooth  and  pure,  for  you  were  the  spirit  that  lived  within  its 
depths." 

And  to  such  talk  succeeded  silence  still  more  sweet — the 
silence  of  the  hushed  and  overflowing  heart.  The  last 
voices  of  the  birds — the  sun  slowly  sinking  in  the  west — ■ 
the  fragrance  of  descending  dews — filled  them  with  that 
deep  and  mysterious  sympathy  which  exists  between  Love 
and  Nature. 

It  was  after  such  a  silence — a  long  silence,  that  seemed 
but  as  a  moment — that  Trevylyan  spoke,  but  Gertrude  an- 
swered not ;  and,  yearning  once  more  for  her  sweet  voice,  he 
turned  and  saw  that  she  had  fainted  awav. 

This  was  the  first  indication  of  the  point  to  which  her  in- 
creasing debility  had  arrived.  Trevylyan's  heart  stood  still, 
and  then  beat  violently ;  a  thousand  fears  crept  over  him,  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her  to  the  open  window. 
The  setting  sun  fell  upon  her  countenance,  from  which  the 
play  of  the  young  heart  and  warm  fancy  had  fled,  and  in  its 
deep  and  still  repose  the  ravages  of  disease  were  darkly 
visible.  What  were  then  his  emotions  !  his  heart  was  like 
stone  ;  but  he  felt  a  rush  as  of  a  torrent  to  his  temples  :  his 
eyes  grew  dizzy — he  was  stunned  by  the  greatness  of  his 
despair.  For  the  last  week  he  had  taken  hope  for  his  com- 
panion ;  Gertrude  had  seemed  so  much  stronger,  for  her  hap- 
piness had  given  her  a  false  support ;  and  though  there  had 
been  moments  when,  watching  the  bright  hectic  come  and 
go,  and  her  step  linger,  and  the  breath  heave  short,  he  had 
felt  the  hope  suddenly  cease,  yet  never  had  he  known  till 
now  that  fulness  of  anguish,  that  dread  certainty  of  the  worst, 
which  the  calm,  fair  face  before  him  struck  into  his  soul  : 
and  mixed  with  his  agony  as  he  gazed  was  all  the  passion  of 
the  most  ardent  love.  For  there  she  lay  in  his  arms,  the 
gentle  breath  rising  from  lips  where  the  rose  yet  lingered, 
and  the  long,  rich  hair,  soft  and  silken  as  an  infant's,  steal- 
ing from  its  confinement :  everything  that  belonged  to  Ger- 
trude's beaut}'  was  so  inexpressibly  soft,  and  pure,  and  youth- 
ful !  Scarcely  seventeen,  she  seemed  much  younger  than 
she  was ;  her  figure  had  sunken  from  its  roundness,  but  still 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


105 


how  light,  how  lovely  were  its  wrecks  !  the  neck  whiter  than 
snow, — the  fair  small  hand!  Her  weight  was  scarcely  tel( 
in  the  arms  of  her  lover,— and  he — what  a  contrast ! — was  in 
all  the  pride  and  flower  of  glorious  manhood  !  his  was  the 
lofty  brow,  the  wreathing  hair,  the  haughty  eye,  the  elastic 
form ;  and  upon  this  frail,  perishable  thing  had  he  fixed  all 
his  heart,  all  the  hopes  of  his  youth,  the  pride  of  his  man- 
hood, his  schemes,  his  energies,  his  ambition  ! 

"  Oh,  Gertrude  !  "  cried  he,  "  is  it — is  it  thus — is  there 
indeed  no  hope  ?  " 

And  Gertrude  now  slowly  recovering,  and  opening  her 
eyes  upon  Trevylyan's  face,  the  revulsion  was  so  great,  his 
emotions  so  overpowering,  that,  clasping  her  to  his  bosom, 
as  if  even  death  should  not  tear  her  away  from  him,  he  wept 
over  her  in  an  agony  of  tears ;  not  those  tears  that  relieve 
the  heart,  but  the  fierj'  rain  of  the  internal  storm,  a  sign  of 
the  fierce  tumult  that  shook  the  very  core  of  his  existence, 
not  a  relief. 

Awakened  to  herself,  Gertrude,  in  amazement  and  alarm, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  looking  wistfully  into 
his  face,  implored  him  to  speak  to  her. 

"  Was  it  my  illness,  love  ?  "  said  she  ;  and  the  music  ol 
her  voice  only  conveyed  to  him  the  thought  of  how  soon  it 
would  be  dumb  to  him  for  ever.  "  Nay,"  she  continued, 
winningly,  "  it  was  but  the  heat  of  the  day ;  I  am  better  now 
— I  am  well ;  there  is  no  cause  to  be  alarmed  for  me  ;  "  and, 
with  all  the  innocent  fondness  of  extreme  youth,  she  kissed 
the  burning  tears  from  his  eyes. 

There  was  a  playfulness,  an  innocence  in  this  poor  girl, 
so  unconscious  as  yet  of  her  destiny,  which  rendered  her  fate 
doubly  touching  ;  and  which  to  the  stern  Trevylyan,  hack- 
neyed by  the  world,  made  her  irresistible  charm  ;  and  now  as 
she  put  aside  her  hair,  and  looked  up  gratefully,  yet  plead- 
ingly, into  his  face,  he  could  scarce  refrain  from  pouring  out 
to  her  the  confession  of  his  anguish  and  despair.  But  the 
necessity  of  self-control — the  necessity  of  concealing  from 
her  a  knowledge  which  might  only,  by  impressing  her  imagi- 
nation, expedite  her  doom,  while  it  would  embitter  to  her 
mind  the  unconscious  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  nerved  and 
manned  him.  He  checked  by  those  violent  efforts  which 
only  men  can  make,  the  evidence  of  his  emotions  ;  and  en- 
deavored, by  a  rapid  torrent  of  words,  to  divert  her  attention 
from  a  weakness,  the  causes  of  which  he  could  not  explain, 


!  o6  THE  PIL  GKIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Fortunately  Vane  soon  returned,  and  Trevylyan,  consigning 
Gertrude  to  his  care,  hastily  left  the  room.     . 

Gertrude  sank  into  a  reverie. 

"  Ah,  dear  father  !  "  said  she,  suddenly,  and  after  a  pause, 
"  If  I  indeed  were  worse  than  I  have  thought  myself  of  late 
— if  I  were  to  die  now,  what  would  Trevylyan  feel  ?  Pray 
God,  I  may  live  for  his  sake  !  " 

"  My  child,  do  not  talk  thus  :  you  are  better,  much  better 
than  you  were.  Ere  the  autumn  ends,  Trevylyan's  happiness 
will  be  your  lawful  care.  Do  not  think  so  despondently  of 
yourself." 

"  I  thought  not  of  myself,"  sighed  Gertrude,  "  but  of 
him  !  " 


CHAPTER    XVr. 
Gertrude. — The  Excursion  to  Hammerstein. — Thoughts. 

The  next  day  they  visited  the  environs  of  Brohl.  Ger- 
trude was  unusually  silent ;  for  her  temper,  naturally  sunny 
and  enthusiastic,  was  accustomed  to  light  up  everything  she 
saw.  Ah,  once  how  bounding  was  that  step  !  how  undulating 
the  young  graces  of  that  form  !  how  playfully  once  danced 
the  ringlets  on  that  laughing  cheek  !  But  she  clung  to  Tre- 
v)'lyan's  proud  form  with  a  yet  more  endearing  tenderness  than 
was  her  wont,  and  hung  yet  more  eagerly  on  his  words  ;  her 
hand  sought  his,  and  she  often  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and 
sighed  as  she  did  so.  Something  that  she  would  not  teil 
seemed  passing  within  her,  and  sobered  her  playful  mood.  But 
there  was  this  noticeable  in  Gertrude  :  whatever  took  away 
from  her  gayety,  increased  her  tenderness.  The  infirmities 
of  her  frame  never  touched  her  temper.  She  was  kind — 
gentle — loving  to  the  last. 

They  had  crossed  to  the  opposite  banks,  to  visit  the 
castle  of  Hammerstein.  The  evening  was  transparently 
serene  and  clear  ;  and  the  warmth  of  the  sun  yet  lingered 
upon  the  air,  even  though  the  twilight  had  passed  and 
the  moon  risen,  as  their  boat  returned  by  a  lengthened  pas- 
sage to  the  village.  Broad  and  straight  flows  the  Rhine  in 
this  part  of  its  career.     On  one  side  lay  the  wooded  village 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  107 

of  Namedy,  the  hamlet  of  Fornech,  backed  by  the  blue  rock 
of  Kruezborner  Ley,  the  mountains  that  shield  the  mysteri- 
ous Brohl :  and,  on  the  opposite  shore,  they  saw  the  mighty 
rock  of  Hammerstein,  with  the  green  and  livid  ruins  sleeping 
in  the  melancholy  moonlight.  Two  towers  rose  haughtily 
above  the  more  dismantled  wrecks.  How  changed  since  the 
alternate  banners  of  the  Spaniard  and  the  Swede  waved  from 
their  ramparts,  in  that  great  war  in  which  the  gorgeous  Wal- 
lenstein  won  his  laurels  !  And  in  its  might\'  calm,  flowed  on 
the  ancestral  Rhine,  the  vessel  reflected  on  its  smooth  ex- 
panse ;  and  above,  girded  by  thin  and  shadowy  clouds,  the 
moon  cast  her  shadows  upon  rocks  covered  with  verdure, 
and  brought  into  a  dim  light  the  twin  spires  of  Andernach, 
tranquil  in  the  distance. 

"  How  beautiful  is  this  hour  !  "  said  Gertrvide,  with  a  low 
voice  :  "surely  we  do  not  live  enough  in  the  night;  one  half 
the  beauty  of  the  world  is  slept  away.  What  in  the  day  can 
equal  the'  holy  calm,  the  loveliness,  and  the  stillness  which 
the  moon  now  casts  over  the  earth  ?  These,"  she  continued, 
pressing  Trevylyan's  hand,  "  are  hours  to  remember ;  and  jv//, 
— will  you  ever  forget  them  ?  " 

Something  there  is  in  recollections  of  such  times  and 
scenes  that  seem  not  to  belong  to  the  real  life,  but  are  rather 
an  episode  in  its  history ;  they  are  like  some  wandering  into 
a  more  ideal  world  ;  they  refuse  to  blend  with  our  ruder  as- 
sociations ;  they  live  in  us,  apart  and  alone,  to  be  treasured 
ever,  but  not  lightly  to  be  recalled.  There  are  none  living  to 
whom  we  can  confide  them, — who  can  sympathize  with  what 
then  we  felt  ?  It  is  this  that  makes  poetry,  and  that  page 
which  we  create  as  a  confidant  to  ourselves,  necessary  to  the 
thoughts  that  weigh  upon  the  breast.  We  write,  for  our 
writing  is  our  friend,  the  inanimate  paper  is  our  confessional ; 
we  pour  forth  on  it  the  thoughts  that  we  could  tell  to  no 
private  ear,  and  are  relieved — are  consoled.  And,  if  genius 
has  one  prerogative  dearer  than  the  rest,  it  is  that  which  en- 
ables it  to  do  honor  to  the  dead — to  revive  the  beauty,  the 
virtue  that  are  no  more  ;  to  wreathe  chaplets  that  outlive  the 
day  round  the  urn  which  were  else  forgotten  by  the  world  ! 

When  the  poet  mourns,  in  his  immortal  verse,  for  the 
dead,  tell  me  not  that  fame  is  in  his  mind  !  it  is  filled  by 
thoughts,  by  emotions  that  shut  out  the  living.  He  is  breath- 
ing to  his  genius — to  that  sole  and  constant  friend,  which  has 
grov/n  up  with  him  from  his  cradle — the  sorrows  too  delicate 


lo8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

for  human  sympathy  ;  and  M'hen  afterwards  he  consigns  the 
confession  to  the  crowd,  it  is  indeed  from  the  hope  of  honor, 
— honor  not  for  himself,  but  for  the  being  that  is  no  more 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
Letter  from  Trevylyan  to  *  *  *  *. 


Coblentz. 


"I  AM  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  letter; 
which,  indeed,  I  have  not,  in  the  course  of  our  rapid  journey, 
had  the  leisure,  perhaps  the  heart,  to  answer  before.  But 
we  are  staying  in  this  town  for  some  days,  and  I  write  now  in 
the  early  morning,  ere  any  one  else  in  the  hotel  is  awake. 
Do  not  tell  me  of  adventure,  of  politics,  of  intrigues  ;  my 
nature  is  altered.  I  threw  down  your  letter  animated  and 
brilliant  as  it  was,  with  a  sick  and  revolted  heart.  But  I  am 
now  in  somewhat  less  dejected  spirits.  Gertrude  is  better — 
yes  really  better  ;  there  is  a  physician  here  who  gives  me  hope, 
my  care  is  perpetually  to  amuse,  and  never  fatigue  her — never 
to  permit  her  thoughts  to  rest  upon  herself.  For  I  have  im- 
agined that  illness  cannot,  at  least  in  the  unexhausted  vigor 
of  our  years,  fasten  upon  us  irremediably,  unless  we  feed  it 
with  our  own  belief  in  its  existence.  You  see  men  of  the 
most  delicate  frames  engaged  in  active  and  professional  pur- 
suits, who  literally  have  no  time  for  illness.  Let  them  be- 
come idle — let  them  take  care  of  themselves — let  them  think 
of  their  health — and  they  die  !  The  rust  rots  the  steel  which 
use  preserves  ;  and,  thank  Heaven,  although  Gertrude,  once 
during  our  voyage,  seemed  roused,  by  an  inexcusable  impru- 
dence of  emotion  on  my  part,  into  some  suspicion  of  her  state, 
yet  it  passed  away  ;  for  she  thinks  rarely  of  herself — I  am 
ever  in  her  thoughts  and  seldom  from  her  side,  and  you  know, 
toe,  the  sanguine  and  credulous  nature  of  her  disease.  But, 
indeed,  I  now  hope  more  than  I  have  done  since  I  knew 
her. 

"  When,  after  an  excited  and  adventurous  life,  which  had 
comprised  so  many  changes  in  so  few  years,  I  found  myself  at 
rest  in  the  bosom  of  a  retired  and  remote  part  of  the  country, 
and  Gertrude  and  her  father  were  my  only  neighbors,  I  wa? 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  109 

in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  the  passions,  recruited  by  soU- 
tude,  are  accessible  to  the  purer  and  more  divine  emotions. 
I  was  struck  by  Gertrude's  beauty  ;  I  was  charmed  by  her 
simphcity.  Worn  in  the  usages  and  fashions  of  the  world,  the 
inexperience,  the  trustfulness,  the  exceeding  youth  of  her 
mind,  charmed  and  touched  me  ;  but  when  I  saw  the  stamp 
of  our  national  disease  in  her  bright  eye  and  transparent 
cheek,  I  felt  my  love  chilled  while  my  interest  was  increased. 
I  fancied  myself  safe,  and  I  went  daily  into  the  danger  ;  I 
nnagined  so  pure  a  light  could  not  burn,  and  I  was  consumed. 
Not  till  my  anxiety  grew  into  pain,  my  interest  into  terror,  did 
I  know  the  secret  of  my  own  heart ;  and  at  the  moment 
that  I  discovered  this  secret,  I  discovered  also  that  Gertrude 
loved  me !  What  a  destiny  was  mine !  what  happiness, 
yet  what  misery  !  Gertrude  was  my  own — but  for  what  period  ? 
I  might  touch  that  soft  hand — I  might  listen  to  the  tenderest 
confession  from  that  silver  voice — but  all  the  while  my  heart 
spoke  of  passion,  my  reason  whispered  of  death.  You  know 
that  I  am  considered  of  a  cold  and  almost  callous  nature,  that 
I  am  not  easily  moved  to  affection,  but  my  very  pride  bowed 
me  here  into  weakness.  There  was  so  soft  a  demand  upon 
my  protection,  so  constant  an  appeal  to  my  anxiety.  You 
know  that  my  father's  quick  temper  burns  within  me,  that  I 
am  hot,  and  stern,  and  exacting ;  but  one  hasty  word,  one 
thought  of  myself,  here  were  inexcusable.  So  brief  a  time 
might  be  left  for  her  earthly  happiness — could  I  embitter  one 
moment  ?  All  that  feeling  of  uncertainty  which  should  in 
prudence  have  prevented  my  love,  increased  it  almost  to  a 
preternatural  excess.  That  which  it  is  said  mothers  feel  for 
an  only  child  in  sickness,  I  feel  for  Gertrude.  My  existence 
is  not ! — I  exist  in  her  ! 

"  Her  illness  increased  upon  her  at  home  ;  they  have 
recommended  travel.  She  chose  the  course  we  were  to 
pursue,  and,  fortunately,  it  was  so  familiar  to  me,  that  I 
have  been  enabled  to  brighten  the  way.  I  am  ever  on  the  watch 
that  she  shall  not  know  a  weary  hour ;  you  would  almost 
smile  to  see  how  I  have  roused  myself  from  my  habitual 
silence  ;  and  to  find  me — me,  the  scheming  and  the  worldly 
actor  of  real  life,  plunged  back  into  the  early  romance  of  my 
boyhood,  and  charming  the  childish  delight  of  Gertrude  with 
the  invention  of  fables  and  the  traditions  of  the  Rhine. 

"  But  I  believe  I  have  succeeded  in  my  object ;  if  not, 
what  is  left  to  me  ?  Gertrude  is  better !  In  that  sentence  what 
visions  of  hope  dawn  upon  me  !  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 


no  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Gertrude  before  we  left  England  ;  you  might  then  have  un 
derstood  my  love  for  her.  Not  that  we  have  not,  in  the  gay 
capitals  of  Europe,  paid  our  brief  vows  to  forms  more  richly 
beautiful ;  not  that  we  have  not  been  charmed  by  a  more  brii 
liant  genius,— by  a  more  tutored  grace.  But  there  is  that  irr 
Gertrude  which  I  never  saw  before  ;  the  union  of  the  childish  and 
intellectual,  an  ethereal  simplicity,  a  temper  that  is  nevet 
dimmed,  a  tenderness — oh  God  !  let  me  not  speak  of  her  vir- 
tues, for  they  only  tell  me  how  little  she  is  suited  to  the  earth. 
"  You  will  direct  to  me  at  Mayence,  whither  our  course 
now  leads  us,  and  your  friendship  will  find  indulgence  for  a 
letter  that  is  so  little  a  reply  to  yours. 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

A.  G.  Trevylyan." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Coblentz. — Excursion  to  the  Mountains  of  Taunus  ;  Roman  Tower  in 

the  Valley  of  Ehrenbreitstein. — Travel:  its  pleasures  estimated  dif- 
ferently by  the  young  and  the  old. — The  Student  of  Heidelberg  ;  his 
Criticisms  on  German  Literature. 

Gertrude  had,  indeed,  apparently  rallied  during  their 
stay  at  Coblentz  ;  and  a  French  physician  established  in  the 
town  (who  adopted  a  peculiar  treatment  for  consumption, 
which  had  been  attended  with  no  ordinary  success),  gave  her 
father  and  Trevylyan  a  sanguine  assurance  of  her  ultimate 
recovery.  The  time  they  passed  within  the  white  walls  of 
Coblentz  was,  therefore  the  happiest  and  most  cheerful  part 
of  their  pilgrimage.  They  visited  the  various  places  in  its 
vicinity ;  but  the  excursion  which  most  delighted  Gertrude 
was  one  to  the  mountains  of  Taunus. 

They  took  advantage  of  a  beautiful  September  day  ;  and, 
crossing  the  river,  connnenced  their  tour  from  the  Thai,  or 
valley  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  They  stopped  on  their  way  to  view 
the  remains  of  a  Roman  tower  in  the  valley  ;  for  the  whole  of 
that  district  bears  frequent  witness  of  the  ancient  conquerors 
of  the  world.  The  mountains  of  Taunus  are  still  intersected 
with  the  roads  which  the  Romans  cut  to  the  mines  that  sup- 
plied them  with  silver.  Roman  urns,  and  inscribed  stones, 
are  often  found  in  these  ancient  places.  The  stones,  inscribed 
with  names  utterly  unknown — a  tyoe  of  the  uncertaintv  of 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  1 1 1 

fame  !— the  urns,  from  which  the  dust  is  gone — a  very  satire 
upon  Hfe  ! 

Lone,  gray,  and  mouldering,  this  tower  stands  aloft  in  the 
valley  ;  and  the  quiet  Vane  smiled  to  see  the  uniform  of  a 
modern  Prussian,  with  hi?  white  belt  and  lifted  bayonet,  by 
the  spot  which  had  once  echoed  to  the  clang  of  the  Roman 
arms.  The  soldier  was  paying  a  momentary  court  to  a 
countr}^  damsel,  whose  straw  hat  and  rustic  dress  did  not 
stifle  the  vanit)^  of  the  sex  ;  and  this  rude  and  humble  gal- 
lantry, in  that  spot,  was  another  moral  in  the  histoiy  of  human 
passions.  Above,  the  rampart  of  a  modern  rule  frowned  down 
upon  the  solitary  tower,  as  if  in  the  vain  insolence  with  which 
present  power  looks  upon  past  decay ;  the  living  race  upon 
ancestral  greatness.  And  indeed,  in  this  respect,  rightly  ! 
• — for  modern  times  have  no  parallel  to  that  degradation  of 
human  dignity  stamped  upon  the  ancient  world  by  the  long 
sway  of  the  Imperial  Harlot,  all  slavery  herself,  yet  all  tyran- 
ny to  earth  : — and,  like  her  own  Messalina,  at  once  a  prosti- 
tute and  an  empress  ! 

They  continued  their  course  by  the  ancient  baths  of  Ems, 
and  keeping  by  the  banks  of  the  romantic  Lahn,  arrived  at 
Holzapfel. 

"Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  one  day,  as  they  proceeded  to  the 
springs  of  the  Carlovingian  Wisbaden,  "  surely  perpetual 
travel  with  those  we  love  must  be  the  happiest  state  of  exist- 
ence. If  home  has  its  comforts,  it  also  has  its  cares  ;  but 
here  we  are  at  home  with  nature,  and  the  minor  evils  vanish 
almost  before  they  are  felt." 

"  True,"  said  Trevylyan,  "  we  escape  from  'the  little,' 
which  is  the  curse  of  life  ;  the  small  cares  that  devour  us  up, 
the  grievance  of  the  day.  We  are  feeding  the  divinest  part 
of  our  nature, — the  appetite  to  admire." 

"  But  of  all  things  wearisome,"  said  Vane,  "  a  succession 
of  changes  is  the  most.  There  can  be  a  monotony  in  variety 
itself.  As  the  eye  aches  in  gazing  long  at  the  new  shades  of 
the  kaleidscope,  the  mind  aches  at  the  fatigue  of  a  constant 
alternation  of  objects  ;  and  we  delightedly  return  to  rest, 
which  is  to  life  what  green  is  to  the  earth." 

In  the  course  of  their  sojourn  among  the  various  baths  of 
Taunus,  they  fell  in,  by  accident,  with  a  German  student  of 
Heidelberg,  who  was  pursuing  the  pedestrian  excursions  so 
peculiarly  favored  by  his  tribe.  He  was  tamer  and  gentler 
than  the  general  herd  of  those  young  wanderers,  and  our  party 
were  much  pleased  with  his  enthusiasm,  because   it  was  un- 


,12  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

affected.     He  had  been  in  England,  and  spoke  its  language 
almost  as  a  native. 

"  Our  literature,"  said  he,  one  day,  conversing  with  Vane^ 
"  has  two  faults — we  are  too  subtle  and  too  homely.  We  do 
not  speak  enough  to  the  broad  comprehension  of  mankind ; 
we  are  forever  making  abstract  qualities  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Our  critics  have  turned  your  Hamlet  into  an  allegory  ;  they 
will  not  even  allow  Shakspeare  to  paint  mankind,  but  insist  on 
his  embodying  qualities.  They  turn  poetry  into  metaphysics, 
and  truth  seems  to  them  shallow,  unless  an  allegory,  which  is 
false,  can  be  seen  at  the  bottom.  Again,  too,  with  our  most 
imaginative  works  we  mix  a  homeliness  that  we  fancy  touch- 
ing, but  which  in  reality  is  ludicrous.  We  eternally  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous — we  want  taste," 

"  But  not,  I  hope,  French  taste.  Do  not  govern  a  Goethe, 
or  even  a  Richter,  by  a  Boileau  1  "  said  Trevylyan, 

"  No,  but  Boileau's  taste  was  false.  Men,  who  have  the 
reputation  for  good  taste,  often  acquire  it  solely  because  of 
the  want  of  genius.  By  taste,  I  mean  a  quick  tact  into  the 
harmony  of  composition,  the  art  of  making  the  whole  consis- 
tent with  its  parts,  the  concinnitas — Schiller  alone  of  our 
authors  has  it ; — but  we  are  fast  mending  ;  and,  by  following 
shadows  so  long,  we  have  been  led  at  last  to  the  substance. 
Our  past  literature  is  to  us  what  astrology  was  to  science — ■ 
false  but  ennobling,  and  conducting  us  to  the  true  language 
of  the  intellectual  heaven." 

Another  time  the  scenes  they  passed,  interspersed  with 
the  ruins  of  frequent  monasteries,  leading  them  to  converse 
on  the  monastic  life,  and  the  various  additions  time  makes 
to  religion,  the  German  said  :  "  Perhaps  one  of  the  works 
most  wanted  in  the  world  is  the  history  of  religion.  We  have 
several  books,  it  is  true,  on  the  subject,  but  none  that  supply 
the  want  I  allude  to,  A  German  ought  to  write  it ;  for  it  is, 
probably,  only  a  German  that  would  have  the  requisite  learn- 
ing. A  German  only,  too,  is  likely  to  treat  the  mighty  sub- 
ject with  boldness,  and  yet  with  veneration  ;  without  the 
shallow  flippancy  of  the  Frenchman,  without  the  timid  sec- 
tarianism of  the  English.  It  would  be  a  noble  task,  to  trace 
the  winding  mazes  of  antique  falsehood  ;  to  clear  up  the  first 
glimmerings  of  divine  truth  :  to  separate  Jehovah's  word 
from  man's  invention  ;  to  vindicate  the  All-merciful  from  the 
dread  creeds  of  bloodshed  and  of  fear :  and  watching  in  the 
great  Heaven  of  Truth  the  dawning  of  the  True  Star,  follow 
it — like  the  Magi  of  the   East — till  it  rested  above  the  real 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE, 


"3 


God.  Not  indeed  presuming  to  such  a  task,"  continued  the 
German,  with  a  slight  blush,  "  I  have  about  me  an  humble 
essay,  which  treats  only  of  one  part  of  that  august  subject  ; 
which,  leaving  to  a  loftier  genius  the  history  of  the  true  re- 
ligion, may  be  considered  as  the  history  of  a  false  one  ; — of 
such  a  creed  as  Christianity  supplanted  in  the  North  ;  or 
such  as  may  perhaps  be  found  among  the  fiercest  of  the  sav- 
age tribes.  It  is  a  fiction — as  you  may  conceive  ;  but  yet, 
by  a  constant  reference  to  the  early  records  of  human  learn- 
ing, I  have  studied  to  weave  it  up  from  truths.  If  you  would 
like  to  hear  it — it  is  very  short " 

"  Above  all  things,"  said  Vane  ;  and  the  German  drew  a 
manuscript,  neatly  bound,  from  his  pocket. 

"  After  having  myself  criticised  so  insolently  the  faults 
of  our  national  literature,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  you  will  have  a 
right  to  criticise  the  faults  that  belong  to  so  humble  a  dis 
ciple  of  it.  But  you  will  see  that,  though  I  commenced  with, 
the  allegorical  or  the  supernatural,  I  have  endeavored  to  avoid 
the  subtlety  of  conceit,  and  the  obscurity  of  design,  which  I 
blame  in  the  wilder  of  our  authors.  As  to  the  style,  I  wished 
to  suit  it  to  the  subject ;  it  ought  to  be,  unless  I  err,  rugged 
and  massive,  hewn,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  rock  of  primaeval 
language.  But  you,  madam ; — doubtless  you  do  not  under- 
stand German  ?  " 

"  Her  mother  was  an  Austrian,"  said  Vane  ;  "  and  she 
knows  at  least  enough  of  the  tongue  to  understand  you  ;  so 
pray  begin." 

Without  further  preface,  the  German  then  commenced 
the  story  which  the  reader  will  find  translated*  in  the  next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

The  Fallen  Star ;  or  the  history  of  a  false  Religon. 

And  the  Stars  sat,  each  on  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched 
with  sleepless  eyes  upon  the  world.  It  was  the  night  usher- 
ing in  the  new  year,  a  night  on  which  every  star  receives 

*  Nevertheless  I  beg  to  state  seriously,  that  the  German  student  is  an 
impostor  ',  and  that  he  has  no  right  to  wrest  the  parentage  of  the  fictioB 
from  the  true  author. 


114  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

-from  the  archangel  that  then  visits  the  universal  galaxy,  its 
peculiar  charge.  The  destinies  of  men  and  empires  are  then 
portioned  forth  for  the  coming  year,  and,  unconsciously  to 
ourselves,  our  fates  become  minioned  to  the  stars.  A  hushed 
and  solemn  night  is  that  in  which  the  dark  Gates  of  Time 
open  to  receive  the  ghost  of  the  Dead  Year,  and  the  young 
and  radiant  Stranger  rushes  forth  from  the  clouded  chasms 
of  Eternity.  On  that  night,  it  is  said,  that  there  are  given  to  the 
spirits  that  we  see  not,  a  privilege  and  a  power :  the  dead 
are  troubled  in  their  forgotten  graves,  and  men  feast  and 
laugh,  while  demon  and  angel  are  contending  for  their  doom. 

It  was  night  in  heaven  ;  all  was  unutterably  silent,  the 
music  of  the  spheres  had  paused,  and  not  a  sound  came  from 
the  angels  of  the  stars  ;  and  they  who  sat  upon  those  shining 
thrones  were  three  thousand  and  ten,  each  resembling  each. 
Eternal  youth  clothed  their  radiant  limbs  with  celestial  beauty, 
and  on  their  faces  was  written  the  dread  of  calm,  that  fearful 
stillness  which  feels  not,  sympathizes  not,  with  the  dooms  over 
which  it  broods.  War,  tempest,  pestilence,  the  rise  of  em- 
pires, and  their  fall,  they  ordain,  they  compass,  unexultant 
and  uncompassionate.  The  fell  and  thrilling  crimes  that 
stalk  abroad  when  the  world  sleeps,  the  parricide  with  his 
stealthy  step,  and  horrent  brow,  and  lifted  knife  ;  the  un- 
wifed  mother  that  glides  out  and  looks  behind,  and  behind, 
and  shudders,  and  casts  her  babe  upon  the  river,  and  hears 
the  wail,  and  pities  not — the  splash,  and  does  not  tremble  ; — 
these  the  starred  kings  behold — to  these  they  lead  the  uncon- 
scious step ;  but  the  guilt  blanches  not  their  lustre,  neither 
doth  remorse  wither  their  unwrinkled  youth.  Each  star  wore 
a  kingly  diadem  ;  round  the  loins  of  each  was  a  graven  belt, 
graven  with  many  and  mighty  signs ;  and  the  foot  of  each 
was  on  a  burning  ball,  and  the  right  arm  drooped  over  the 
knee  as  they  bent  down  from  their  thrones  ;  they  moved  not 
a  limb  or  feature,  save  the  finger  of  the  right  hand,  which 
ever  and  anon  moved,  slowly  pointing,  and  regulating  the 
fates  of  men  as  the  hand  of  the  dial  speaks  the  career  of 
time. 

One  only  of  the  three  thousand  and  ten  wore  not  the 
same  aspect  as  his  crowned  brethren,  a  star  smaller  than  the 
rest,  and  less  luminous :  the  countenance  of  this  star  was  not 
impressed  with  the  awful  calmness  of  the  others  ;  but  there 
were  suUenness  and  discontent  upon  his  mighty  brow. 

And  this  star  said  to  himself, — "  Behold !  I  am  created 
less  glorious  than  my  fellows,  and  the  archangel  apportions 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE,  115 

not  to  me  the  same  lordly  destinies.  Not  for  me  are  the 
dooms  of  kings  and  bards,  the  rulers  of  empires,  _  or,  yet 
nobler,  the  swayers  and  harmonists  of  soul.  Sluggish  are 
the  spirits  and  base  the  lot  of  the  men  I  am  ordained  to  lead 
through  a  dull  life  to  a  fameless  grave.  And  wherefore? — 
is  it  mine  own  fault,  or  is  it  the  fault  which  is  not  mine, 
that  I  was  woven  of  beams  less  glorious  than  my  brethren  ? 
Lo  !  when  the  archangel  comes,  I  will  bow  not  my  crowned 
head  to  his  decrees.  I  will  speak,  as  the  ancestral  Lucifer 
before  me  :  he  rebelled  because  of  his  glory,  /because  of  rny 
obscurity  ;  he  from  the  ambition  of  pride,  and  /  from  its  dis- 
content." 

And  while  the  star  was  thus  communing  with  himself,  the 
upward  heavens  were  parted  as  by  a  long  river  of  light 
and  adown  that  stream  swiftly,  and  without  sound,  sped  the 
archangel  visitor  of  the  stars  ;  his  vast  limbs  floated  in  the 
liquid  lustre,  and  his  outspread  wings,  each  plume  the  glory 
of  a  sun,  bore  him  noiselessly  along  ;  but  thick  clouds  veiled 
his  lustre  from  the  eyes  of  mortals,  and  while  above  all  was 
bathed  in  the  serenity  of  his  splendor,  tempest  and  storm 
broke  below  over  the  children  of  the  earth  :  "  He  bowed  the 
heavens  and  came  down,  and  darkness  was  under  his  feet." 

And  the  stillness  on  the  faces  of  the  stars  became  yet 
more  still,  and  the  awfulness  was  humbled  into  awe.  Right 
above  their  thrones  paused  the  course  of  the  archangel ;  and 
his  wings  stretched  from  east  to  west,  overshadowing  with 
the  shadow  of  light  the  immensity  of  space.  Then  forth,  in 
the  shining  stillness,  rolled  the  dread  music  of  his  voice  : 
and,  fulfilling  the  heraldr\'  of  God,  to  each  star  he  appointed 
the  duty  and  the  charge,  and  each  star  bowed  his  head  yet 
lower  as  he  heard  the  fiat,  while  his  throne  rocked  and  trem- 
bled at  the  Majesty  of  the  World.  But  at  last,  when  each  of 
the  brighter  stars  had,  in  succession,  received  the  mandate, 
and  the  vice-royalty  over  the  nations  of  the  earth,  the  purple 
and  diadems  of  kings,  the  archangel  addressed  the  lesser  star 
as  he  sat  apart  from  his  fellows: 

"Behold,"  said  the  archangel,  " the  rude  tribes  of  the 
north,  the  fishermen  of  the  river  that  flows  beneath,  and  the 
hunters  of  the  forests  that  darken  the  mountain-tops  with  ver- 
dure I  these  be  thy  charge,  and  their  destinies  thy  care.  Noi 
deem  thou,  O  star  of  the  sullen  beams,  that  thy  duties  are 
less  glorious  than  the  duties  of  thy  brethren  :  for  the  peasant 
is  not  less  to  thy  master  and  mine  than  the  monarch  ;  nor 
doth  the  doom  of  empires  rest  more  upon  the  sovereign  than 


IK 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE 


on  the  herd.  The  passions  and  the  heart  are  the  dominion 
of  the  stars, — a  mighty  realm  ;  nor  less  mighty  beneath  the 
hide  that  garbs  the  shepherd,  than  under  the  jewelled  robes 
of  the  eastern  kings." 

Then  the  star  lifted  his  pale  front  from  his  breast,  and 
answered  the  archangel : — 

"  Lo  ! "  he  said,  "  ages  have  passed,  and  each  year  thou 
hast  appointed  me  to  the  same  ignoble  charge.  Release  me 
I  pray  thee,  from  the  duties  that  I  scorn  ;  or,  if  thou  wilt  that 
the  lowlier  race  of  men  be  my  charge,  give  unto  me  the 
charge  not  of  many,  but  of  one,  and  suffer  me  to  breathe  in- 
to him  the  desire  that  spurns  the  valleys  of  life,  and  ascends 
its  steeps.  If  the  humble  are  given  to  me,  let  there  be 
amongst  them  one  whom  I  may  lead  on  the  mission  that  shall 
abase  the  proud  ;  for,  behold,  O  Appointer  of  the  Stars,  as  I 
have  sat  for  uncounted  years  upon  my  solitary  throne,  brood- 
ing over  the  things  beneath,  my  spirit  hath  gathered  wisdom 
from  the  changes  that  shift  below.  Looking  upon  the  tribes 
of  earth,  I  have  seen  how  the  multitude  are  swayed,and  tracked 
the  steps  that  lead  weakness  into  power  ;  and  fain  would  I  be 
the  ruler  of  one  who,  if  abased,  shall  aspire  to  rule." 

As  a  sudden  cloud  over  the  face  of  noon,  was  the  change 
on  the  brow  of  the  archangel. 

"  Proud  and  melancholy  star,"  said  the  herald,  "  thy  wish 
would  war  with  the  courses  of  the  mvisible  destiny,  that, 
throned  far  above,  sways  and  harmonizes  all ;  the  source  from 
which  the  lesser  rivers  of  fate  are  eternally  gushing  through 
the  heart  of  the  universe  of  things.  Thinkest  thou  that  thy 
wisdom,  of  itself,  can  lead  the  peasant  to  become  a  king  ? " 

And  the  crowned  star  gazed  undauntedly  on  the  face  of 
the  archangel,  and  answered, — 

"  Yea  !  — grant  me  but  one  trial  !  " 

Ere  the  archangel  could  reply,  the  farthest  centre  of  the 
heaven  was  rent  as  by  a  thunderbolt ;  and  the  divine  herald 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  a  voice  low  and  sweet, 
and  mild  with  the  consciousness  of  unquestionable  power, 
spoke  forth  to  the  repining  star. 

"  The  time  has  arrived  when  thou  mayest  have  thy  wish. 
Below  thee,  upon  yon  solitary  plain,  sits  a  mortal,  gloomy  as 
thyself,  who,  born  under  thy  influence,  may  be  moulded  to 
thy  will." 

The  voice  ceased  as  the  voice  of  a  dream.  Silence  was 
over  the  seas  of  space,  and  the  archangel,  once  more  borne 
aloft,  slowly  soared  away  into  the  farther  heavens  to  promul 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


117 


gate  the  divine  bidding  to  the  stars  of  far-distant  worlds. 
But  the  soul  of  the  discontented  star  exulted  within  itself  ; 
and  it  said,  "  I  will  call  forth  a  king  from  the  valley  of  the 
herdsmen,  that  shall  trample  on  the  kings  subject  to  my  fel- 
lows, and  render  the  charge  of  the  contemned  star  more  glo- 
rious than  the  minions  of  its  favored  brethren  ;  thus  shall  I 
revenge  neglect — thus  shall  I  prove  my  claim  hereafter  to  the 
heritage  of  the  great  of  earth  !  " 

TV  "ff  ^  nv  W  •% 

'ff  *  ^  W  "flr  'BF 

At  that  time,  though  the  world  has  rolled  on  for  ages,  and 
the  pilgrimage  of  man  had  passed  through  various  states  of 
existence,  which  our  dim  traditionary  knowledge  has  not 
preserved,  yet  the  condition  of  our  race  in  the  northern  hem- 
isphere was  then  what  we,  in  our  imperfect  lore,  have  con- 
ceived to  be  among  the  earliest. 

****** 

****** 
****** 

By  a  rude  and  vast  pile  of  stones,  the  masonr}'  of  art  for 
gotten,  a  lonely  man  sat  at  midnight,  gazing  upon  the  heavens  ; 
a  storm  had  just  passed  from  the  earth — the  clouds  had  rolled 
away,  and  the  high  stars  looked  down  upon  the  rapid  waters 
of  the  Rhine  ;  and  no  sound  save  the  roar  of  the  waves  and 
the  dripping  of  the  rain  from  the  mighty  trees  was  heard 
around  the  ruined  pile  ;  the  white  sheep  lay  scattered  on  the 
plain,  and  slumber  with  them.  He  sat  watching  over  the 
herd,  lest  the  foes  of  a  neighboring  tribe  seized  them  una- 
wares, and  thus  he  communed  with  himself  :  "  The  king  sits 
upon  his  throne,  and  is  honored  by  a  warrior  race,  and  the 
warrior  exults  in  the  trophies  he  has  won ;  the  step  of  the 
huntsman  is  bold  upon  the  mountain-top,  and  his  name  is 
sung  at  night  round  the  pine-fires,  by  the  lips  of  the  bard  ;  and 
the  bard  himself  hath  honor  in  the  hall.  But  I,  who  belong 
not  to  the  race  of  kings,  and  whose  limbs  can  bound  not  to 
the  rapture  of  war,  nor  scale  the  eyries  of  the  eagle  and  the 
haunts  of  the  swift  stag ;  whose  hand  cannot  string  the  harp_ 
and  whose  voice  is  harsh  in  the  song  ;  /  have  neither  honor 
nor  command,  and  men  bow  not  the  head  as  I  pass  along ; 
yet  do  I  feel  within  me  the  consciousness  of  a  great  powei 
that  should  rule  my  species — not  obey.  My  eye  pierces  the 
secret  hearts  of  men — I  see  their  thoughts  ere  their  lips  pro- 
claim them  ;  and  I  scorn,  while  I  see,  the  weakness  and  the 


Ii8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

vices  which  I  never  shared — I  laugh  at  the  madness  of  the 
warrior — I  mock  witliin  my  soul  at  the  tyranny  of  kings. 
Surely  there  is  someihing  in  man's  nature  more  fitted  to 
command — more  worthv  of  renown,  than  the  sinews  of  the 
arm,  or  the  swiftness  of  the  feet,  or  the  accident  of  birth ! " 

As  Morven,  the  son  of  Osslah,  thus  mused  within  himself, 
still  looking  at  the  heavens,  the  solitary  man  beheld  a  stai 
suddenly  shooting  from  itg  place,  and  speeding  through  tlie 
silent  air,  till  it  suddenly  paused  right  over  the  midlight 
river,  and  facing  the  inmate  of  the  pile  of  stones. 

As  he  gazed  upon  the  star,  strange  thoughts  grew  slowly 
over  him.  He  drank,  as  it  were,  from  its  solemn  aspect,  the 
spirit  of  a  great  design.  A  dark  cloud  rapidly  passing  over  the 
earth,  snatched  the  star  from  his  sight,  but  left  to  his  awak- 
ened mind  the  thoughts  and  the  dim  scheme  that  had  come 
to  him  as  he  gazed. 

When  the  sun  arose,  one  of  his  brethren  relieved  him 
from  his  charge  over  the  herd,  and  he  went  away,  but  not  to 
his  father's  home.  Musingly  he  plunged  into  the  dark  and 
leafless  recesses  of  the  winter  forest,  and  shaped  out  of  his 
wild  thoughts,  more  palpably  and  clearly,  the  outline  of  his 
daring  hope.  While  thus  absorbed,  he  heard  a  great  noise  in 
the  forest,  and,  fearful  lest  the  hostile  tribe  of  the  Alrich 
might  pierce  that  way,  he  ascended  one  of  the  loftiest  pine- 
trees,  to  whose  perpetual  verdure  the  winter  had  not  denied 
the  shelter  he  sought,  and,  concealed  by  its  branches,  he 
looked  anxiouslv  forth  in  the  direction  whence  the  noise  had 
proceeded.  And  it  came — it  came  with  a  tramp  and  a  crash, 
and  a  crushing  tread  upon  the  crunched  boughs  and  matted 
leaves  that  strewed  the  soil — it  came — it  came,  the  monster 
that  the  world  now  holds  no  more — the  mighty  Mammoth  of 
the  North  !  Slowly  it  moved  in  its  huge  strength  along,  and  its 
burning  eyes  glittered  through  the  gloomy  shade ;  its  jaws, 
falling  apart,  showed  the  grinders  with  which  it  snapped 
asunder  the  young  oaks  of  the  forest ;  and  the  vast  tusks, 
which  curved  downward  to  the  midst  of  its  massive  limbs, 
glistened  white  and  ghastly,  curdling  the  blood  of  one  destined 
hereafter  to  be  the  dreadest  ruler  of  the  men  of  that  distant 
age. 

The  livid  eyes  of  the  monster  fastened  on  the  form  of  the 
herdsman,  even  amidst  the  thick  darkness  of  the  pine.  It 
paused — it  glared  upon  him — its  jaws  opened,  and  a  low  deep 
sound,  as  of  gathering  thimder,  seemed  to  the  son  of  Osslah 
as  the   knell  of  a  dreadful  grave.     But   after  glaring  on  him 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIIIAE.  ng 

for  some  moments,  it  again,  and  calmly,  pursued  its  terrible 
way,  crushing  the  boughs  as  it  marched  along,  till  the  last 
sound  of  its  heavy  tread  died  away  upon  his  ear.* 

Ere  yet,  liowever,  Morven  summoned  the  courage  to  de- 
scend the  tree,  he  saw  the  shining  of  arms  through  the  bare 
branches  of  the  wood,  and  presently  a  small  band  of  the  hos- 
tile Alrich  came  into  sight.  He  was  perfectly  hidden  from 
them  ;  and,  listening  as  they  passed  him,  he  heard  one  say  to 
another, — " 

"  The  night  covers  all  things  ;  why  attack  them  by  day  ?  " 

And  he  who  seemed  the  chief  of  the  band,  answered, — 

"  Right.  To-night,  when  they  sleep  in  their  city,  we  will 
upon  them.  Lo  !  they  will  be  drenched  in  wine,  and  fall  like 
sheep  into  our  hands." 

"  But  where,  O  chief,"  said  a  third  of  the  band,  "  shall 
our  men  hide  during  the  day  ?  for  there  are  many  hunters 
among  the  youth  of  the  Oestrich  tribe,  and  they  might  see  us 
in  the  forest  unawares,  and  arm  their  race  against  our 
coming." 

"  I  have  prepared  for  that,"  answered  the  chief.  "  Is  not 
the  dark  cavern  of  Oderlin  at  hand  .''  Will  it  not  shelter  us 
from  the  eyes  of  the  victims  .-'  " 

Then  the  men  laughed,  and,  shouting,  they  went  their  way 
adown  the  forest. 

When  they  were  gone,  Morven  cautiously  descended,  and 
striking  into  a  broad  path,  hastened  to  a  vale  that  lay  be- 
tween the  forest  and  the  river  in  which  was  the  city  where 
the  chief  of  his  countiy  dwelt.  As  he  passed  by  the  warlike 
men,  giants  in  that  day,  who  thronged  the  streets  (if  streets 
they  might  be  called),  their  half  garments  parting  from  their 
huge  limbs,  the  quiver  at  their  backs,  and  the  hunting-spear 
in  their  hands,  they  laughed  and  shouted  out,  and,  pointing 
to  him,  cried,  "  Morven,  the  woman  !  Morven,  the  cripple  ! 
what  dost  thou  among  men  .-'  " 

For  the  son  of  Osslah  was  small  in  stature  and  of  slender 
strength,  and  his  step  had  halted  from  his  birth  ;  but  he  passed 
ihrough  the  warriors  unheedingly.  At  the  outskirts  of  the 
city  he  came  upon  a  tall  pile  in  which  some  old  men  dwelt 
by  themselves,  and  counselled  the  king  when  times  of  danger, 
or  when  the  failure  of  season,  the  famine  or  the  drought,  per- 

*  The  critic  will  perceive  that  this  sketcl  of  the  beast,  whose  rsce  has 
perished,  is  mainly  intended  to  designate  the  remote  period  of  the  world 
in  which  the  tale  is  cast. 


I20  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

plexed  the  ruler,  and  clouded  the  savage  fronts  of  his  war- 
rior tribe. 

They  gave  the  counsels  of  experience,  and  when  experi- 
ence failed,  they  drew  in  their  believing  ignorance,  assur- 
ances and  omens  from  the  winds  of  heaven,  the  changes  of  the 
moon,  and  the  flights  of  the  wandering  birds.  Filled  (by  the 
voices  of  the  elements,  and  the  variety  of  mysteries  which 
ever  shift  along  the  face  of  things,  unsolved  by  the  wonder 
which  pauses  not,  the  fear  which  believes,  and  that  eternal 
reasoning  of  all  experience,  which  assigns  causes  to  effect)  with 
the  notion  of  superior  powers,  they  assisted  their  ignorance 
by  the  conjectures  of  their  superstition.  But  as  yet  they  knew 
no  craft  and  practised  no  voluntary  delusion,  they  trembled 
too  much  at  the  mysteries  which  had  created  their  faith  to 
seek  to  belie  them.  They  counselled  as  they  believed,  and 
the  bold  dream  of  governing  their  warriors  and  their  kings  by 
the  wisdom  of  deceit  had  never  dared  to  cross  men  thus  worn 
and  gray  with  age. 

The  son  of  Osslah  entered  the  vast  pile  with  a  fearless 
step,  and  approached  the  place  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall 
where  the  old  men  sat  in  conclave. 

"  How,  baseborn  and  craven-limbed  !  "  cried  the  eldest, 
who  had  been  a  noted  warrior  in  his  day  ;  '*  darest  thou  enter 
unsummoned  amidst  the  secret  councils  of  the  wise  men  ? 
Knowest  thou  not,  scatterling  !  that  the  penalty  is  death  ?  " 

"  Slay  me,  if  thou  wilt,"  answered  Morven,  "  but  hear  ! 
As  I  sat  last  night  in  the  ruined  palace  of  our  ancient  kings, 
tending,  as  my  father  bade  me,  the  sheep  that  grazed  around, 
lest  the  fierce  tribe  of  Alrich  should  descend  unseen  from  the 
mountains  upon  the  herd,  a  storm  came  darkly  on  ;  and  when 
the  storm  had  ceased  and  I  looked  above  on  the  sky,  I  saw 
a  star  descend  from  its  height  towards  me,  and  a  voice  from 
the  star  said,  '  Son  of  Osslah,  leave  thy  herd  and  seek  the 
council  of  the  wise  men,  and  say  unto  them,  that  they  take 
thee  as  one  of  their  number,  or  that  sudden  will  be  the  de- 
struction of  them  and  theirs.'  But  I  had  courage  to  answer 
the  voice,  and  I  said,  '  Mock  not  the  poor  son  of  the  herds- 
man. Behold  they  will  kill  me  if  I  utter  so  rash  a  word,  foi 
I  am  poor  and  valueless  in  the  eyes  of  the  tribe  of  Oestrich, 
and  the  great  in  deeds,  and  the  gray  of  hair,  alone  sit  in  the 
council  of  the  wise  man." 

"  Then  the  voice  said,  '  Do  my  bidding,  and  I  will  give 
thee  a  token  that  thou  comest  from  the  Powers  that  sway  the 
seasons  and  sail  upon  the  eagles  of  the  winds.     Say  unto  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  12 1 

wise  men  that  this  very  night,  if  they  refuse  to  receive  thee 
of  their  band,  evil  shall  fall  upon  them,  and  the  morrow  shall 
dawn  in  blood. 

"  Then  the  voice  ceased,  and  the  cloud  passed  over  the 
star ;  and  I  communed  with  myself,  and  came,  O  dread 
fathers,  mourntullv  unto  you.  For  I  feared  that  ye  would 
smite  me  because  of  my  bold  tongue,  and  that  ye  would  sen- 
tence me  to  ihe  death,  in  that  I  asked  what  may  scarce  be 
given  to  the  sons  of  kings." 

Then  the  grim  elders  looked  one  at  the  other,  and  mar- 
velled much,  nor  knew  they  what  answer  they  should  make 
to  the  herdsman's  son. 

At  length  one  of  the  wise  men  said,  "  Surely  there  must 
be  truth  in  the  son  of  Osslah,  for  he  would  not  dare  to  falsify 
the  great  lights  of  Heaven.  If  he  had  given  unto  men  the 
words  of  the  star,  verily  we  might  doubt  the  truth.  But  who 
would  brave  the  vengeance  of  the  gods  of  night  ?  " 

Then  the  elders  shook  their  heads  approvingly  ;  but  one 
answered  and  said, — 

"  Shall  we  take  the  herdsman's  son  as  our  equal  ?  No  !  " 
The  name  of  the  man  who  thus  answered  was  Darvan,  and 
his  words  were  pleasing  to  the  elders. 

But  Morven  spoke  out :  "  Of  a  truth,  O  councillors  of 
kings  !  I  look  not  to  be  an  equal  with  yourselves.  Enough 
if  I  tend  the  gates  of  your  palace,  and  sei-ve  you  as  the  son  of 
Osslah  may  serve  ;  "  and  he  bowed  his  head  humbly  as  he 
spoke. 

Then  said  the  chief  of  the  elders,  for  he  was  wiser  than  the 
others,  "  But  how  wilt  thou  deliver  us  from  the  evil  that  is  to 
come  .-*  Doubtless  the  star  has  informed  thee  of  the  service 
thou  canst  render  to  us  if  we  take  thee  into  our  palace,  as 
well  as  the  ill  that  will  fall  on  us  if  we  refuse. 

Morven  answered  meekly,  '  Surely,  if  thou  acceptest  thy 
servant,  the  star  will  teach  him  that  which  may  requite  thee  ; 
but  as  yet  he  knows  only  what  he  has  uttered." 

Then  the  sages  bade  him  withdraw,  and  they  communed 
with  themselves,  and  they  differed  much ;  but  though  fierce 
men,  and  bold  at  the  war-cry  of  a  human  foe,  they  shuddered 
at  the  prophecy  of  a  star.  So  they  resolved  to  take  the  son 
of  Osslah,  and  suffer  him  to  keep  the  gate  of  the  council- 
hall. 

He  heard  their  decree  and  bowed  his  head,  and  went 
to  the  gate,  and  sat  down  by  it  in  silence. 

And  the  sun  went  down  in  the  west,  and  the  first  stars 


122  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

of  the  twilight  began  to  glimmer,  when  Morven  started  from 
his  seat,  and  a  trembling  appeared  to  seize  his  limbs.  His  lips 
foamed  ;  an  agony  and  a  fear  possessed  him  ;  he  writhed  as 
a  man  whom  the  spear  of  a  foeinan  has  pierced  with  a  mortal 
wound,  and  suddenly  fell  upon  his  face  on  the  stony  earth. 

The  elders  approached  him  ;  wondering,  they  lifted  him 
up.  He  slowly  recovered  as  from  a  swoon  ;  his  eyes  rolled 
wildly. 

"  Heard  ye  not  the  voice  of  the  star  ?  "  he  said. 

And  the  chief  of  the  elders  answered,  "  Nay,  we  heard 
no  sound." 

Then  Morven  sighed  heavily. 

"  To  me  only  the  word  was  given.  Summon  instantly, 
O  councillors  of  the  king!  summon  the  armed  men,  and  all 
the  youth  of  the  tribe,  and  let  them  take  the  sword  and  the 
spear,  and  follow  thy  servant.  For  lo  !  the  star  hath  an- 
nounced to  him  that  the  foe  shall  fall  into  our  hands  as  the 
wild  beast  of  the  forests." 

The  son  of  Osslah  spoke  with  the  voice  of  command,  and 
the  elders  were  amazed.  "  Why  pause  ye  ? "  he  cried. 
"  Do  the  gods  of  the  night  lie  ?  On  my  head  rest  the  peril 
if  I  deceive  ye." 

Then  the  elders  communed  together  ;  and  they  went  forth 
and  summoned  the  men  of  arms,  and  all  the  young  of  the 
tribe  ;  and  each  man  took  the  sword  and  the  spear,  and 
Morven  also.  And  the  son  of  Osslah  walked  first,  still  look- 
ing up  at  the  star ;  and  he  motioned  them  to  be  silent,  and 
move  with  a  stealthy  step. 

So  they  went  through  the  thickest  of  the  forest,  till  they 
came  to  the  mouth  of  a  great  cave,  overgrown  with  aged  and 
matted  trees,  and  it  was  called  the  cave  of  Oderlin  ;  and  he 
bade  the  leaders  place  the  armed  men  on  either  side  of  the 
cave,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  among  the  bushes. 

So  they  watched  silently  till  the  night  deepened,  when 
they  heard  a  noise  in  the  cave  and  the  sound  of  feet,  and 
forth  came  an  armed  man  :  and  the  spear  of  Morven  pierced 
him,  and  he  fell  dead  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Another 
and  another,  and  both  fell !  Then  loud  and  long  was  heard 
the  war-cry  of  Alrich,  and  forth  poured,  as  a  stream  over  a 
narrow  bed,  the  river  of  armed  men.  And  the  sons  of 
Oestrich  fell  upon  them,  and  the  foe  were  sorely  perplexed 
and  terrified  by  the  suddenness  of  the  battle  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night ;  and  there  was  a  great  slaughter. 

And  when  the  morning  came,  the  children  of    Oestrich, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  123 

counted  the  slain,  and  found  the  leader  of  Alrich  and  the 
chief  men  of  the  tribe  amongst  them,  and  great  was  the  joy 
thereof.  So  they  went  back  in  triumph  to  the  city,  and  they 
carried  the  brave  son  of  Osslah  on  their  shoulders,  and 
shouted  forth,  "  Glory  to  the  servant  of  the  star," 
And  Morven  dwelt  in  the  council  of  the  wise  men. 
Now  tlie  king  of  the  tribe  had  one  daughter,  and  she  was 
stately  amongst  the  women  of  the  tribe,  and  fair  to  look  upon. 
And  Morven  gazed  upon  her  with  the  eyes  of  love,  but  he 
did  not  dare  to  speak. 

Now  the  son  of  Osslah  laughed  secretly  at  the  foolishness 
of  men  ;  he  loved  them  not,  for  they  had  mocked  him  ;  he 
honored  them  not,  for  he  had  blinded  the  wisest  of  their 
elders.  He  shunned  their  feasts  and  merriment,  and  lived 
apart  and  solitary.  The  austerity  of  his  life  increased  the  mys- 
terous  homage  which  his  commune  with  the  stars  had  won 
him  and  the  boldest  of  the  warriors  bowed  his  head  to  the 
favorite  of  the  gods. 

One  day  he  was  wandering  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and 
he  saw  a  large  bird  of  prey  rise  from  the  waters,  and  give 
chase  to  a  hawk  that  had  not  yet  gained  the  full  strength  of 
its  wings.  From  his  3'outh  the  solitary  Morven  had  loved  to 
watch,  in  the  great  forests  and  by  the  banks  of  the  mighty 
stream,  the  habit  of  the  things  which  nature  has  submitted  to 
man  ;  and  looking  now  on  the  birds,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Thus 
is  it  ever ;  by  cunning  or  by  strength  each  thing  wishes  to 
master  its  kind."  While  thus  moralizing,  the  larger  bird  had 
stricken  down  the  hawk,  and  it  fell  terrified  and  panting  at 
his  feet.  Morven  took  the  hawk  in  his  hands,  and  the  vul- 
ture shrieked  above  him,  wheeling  nearer  and  nearer  to  its 
protected  prey ;  but  Morven  scared  away  the  vulture,  and 
placing  the  hawk  in  his  bosom  he  carried  it  home,  and  tended 
it  carefully,  and  fed  it  from  his  hand  until  it  had  regained  its 
strength  ;  and  the  hawk  knew  him,  and  followed  him  as  a 
dog.  And  Morven  said  smiling  to  himself,  ''  Behold,  the 
credulous  fools  around  me  put  faith  in  the  flight  and  motion 
of  1  irds.  I  will  teach  this  poor  hawk  to  minister  to  my  ends." 
So  he  tamed  the  bird,  and  tutored  it  according  to  its  nature  ; 
but  he  concealed  it  carefully  from  others,  and  cherished  it  in 
secret. 

The  king  of  the  country  was  old  and  like  to  die,  and  the 
eyes  of  the  tribe  were  turned  to  his  two  sons,  nor  knew  they 
which  was  the  worthier  to  reign.  And  Mor\'en  passing  through 
the  forest  one  evening  saw  Jiie  younger  of  the  two,  who  was 


124  "^HE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

a  gieat  hunter,  sitting  mournfully  under  an  oak,  and  looking 
with  musing  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"  Wherefore  musest  thou,  O  swift-footed  Siror  ?  "  said  the 
son  of  Osslah  :  "  and  wherefore  art  thou  sad  ?  " 

"  Thou  canst  not  assist  me,"  answered  the  prince,  sterAly  ; 
"  take  thy  way." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Morven,  "  thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
sayest ;  am  I  not  the  favorite  of  the  stars  ?  " 

*'  Away  ! — I  am  no  graybeard  whom  the  approach  of  death 
makes  doting  :  talk  not  to' me  of  the  stars  ;  I  know  only  the 
things  that  my  eye  sees  and  my  ear  drinks  in." 

"  Hush,"  said  Morven,  i;oIemnly,  and  covering  his  face; 
"  hush  !  lest  the  heavens  avenge  thy  rashness.  But,  behold, 
the  stars  have  given  unto  me  to  pierce  the  secret  hearts  of 
others  ;  and  I  can  tell  thee  the  thoughts  of  thine." 

"  Speak  out,  baseborn  !  " 

"  Thou  art  the  younger  of  two,  and  thy  name  is  less 
known  in  w^ar  than  the  name  of  thy  brother  ;  yet  wouldst  thou 
desire  to  be  set  over  his  head,  and  to  sit  on  the  high  seat  of 
thy  father  t  " 

The  young  man  turned  pale.  "  Thou  hast  truth  in  thy 
lips,"  said  he,  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Not  from  me,  but  from  the  stars,  descends  the  truth." 

"  Can  the  stars  grant  my  wish  t  " 

"  They  can  ;  let  us  meet  to-morrow."  Thus  saying,  Mor- 
ven passed  into  the  forest. 

The  next  day,  at  noon,  they  met  again. 

I  have  consulted  the  gods  of  night,  and  they  have  given 
me  the  power  that  I  prayed  for,  but  on  one  condition." 

"  Name  it." 

"  That  thou  sacrifice  thy  sister  on  their  altars  ;  thou  must 
build  up  a  heap  of  stones,  and  take  thy  sister  into  the  wood, 
and  lay  her  on  the  pile,  and  plunge  thy  sword  into  her  heart ; 
so  only  shalt  thou  reign." 

TTie  prince  shuddered,  and  started  to  his  feet,  and  shook 
his  spear  at  the  pale  front  of  Morven. 

"  Tremble,"  said  the  son  of  Osslah,  with  a  loud  voice. 
"  Hark  to  the  gods,  who  threaten  thee  with  death  that  thou 
hast  dared  to  lift  thine  arm  against  their  servant !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  thunder  rolled  above  ;  for  one  of  the 
frequent  storms  of  the  early  summer  was  about  to  break. 
The  spear  dropped  from  the  prince's  hand,  he  sat  down  and 
cast  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


"S 


"  Wilt  thou  do  the  bidding  of  the  stars,  and  reign  ?  "  said 
Morven. 

"  I  will !  "  cried  Siror,  with  a  desperate  voice, 

"  This  evening,  then,  when  the  sun  sets,  thou  wilt  lead 
her  hither,  alone  ;  I  may  not  attend  thee.  Now,  let  us  pile 
the  stones." 

Silently  the  huntsman  bent  his  vast  strength  to  the  frag- 
ments of  rock  that  Morven  pointed  to  him,  and  they  built  the 
altar,  and  went  their  way. 

And  beautiful  is  the  dying  of  the  great  sun,  when  the  last 
song  of  the  birds  fades  into  the  lap  of  silence  ;  when  the 
islands  of  the  cloud  are  bathed  in  light,  and  the  first  star 
springs  up  over  the  grave  of  day ! 

"  Whither  leadest  thou  my  steps,  my  brother  ? "  said 
Orna  ;  "  and  why  doth  thy  lip  quiver  ?  and  why  dost  thou 
turn  away  thy  fact.  ?  " 

"  Is  not  the  forest  beautiful  ?  does  it  not  tempt  us  forth, 
my  sister  ?" 

"  And  wherefore  are  those  heaps  of  stone  piled  to- 
gether ? " 

"  Let  others  answer  ;  /piled  them  not." 

"  Thou  tremblest,  brother  :  we  will  return." 

"  Not  so  :  by  those  stones  is  a  bird  that  my  shaft  pierced 
to-day  ;  a  bird  of  beautiful  plumage  that  I  slew  for  thee." 

"We  are  by  the  pile  ;  where  hast  thou  laid  the  bird  .''  " 

"  Here  ! "  cried  Siror  ;  and  he  seized  the  maiden  in  his 
arms,  and,  casting  her  on  the  rude  altar,  he  drew  forth  his 
sword  to  smite  her  to  the  heart. 

Right  over  the  stones  rose  a  giant  oak,  the  growth  of  im- 
memorial ages  ;  and  from  the  oak,  or  from  the  heavens, 
broke  forth  a  loud  and  solemn  voice,  "  Strike  not,  son  of 
kings  !  the  stars  forbear  their  own  :  the  maiden  thou  shalt 
not  slay ;  yet  shalt  thou  reign  over  the  race  of  Oestrich  ;  and 
thou  shalt  give  Orna  as  a  bride  to  the  favorite  of  the  stars. 
Arise  and  go  thy  way  !  " 

The  voice  ceased  ;  the  terror  of  Orna  had  overpowered 
for  a  time  the  springs  of  life ;  and  Siror  bore  her  home 
through  the  wood  in  his  strong  arms. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Morven,  when,  at  the  next  day,  he  again 
met  the  aspiring  prince  ;  "  alas  !  the  stars  have  ordained  me 
a  lot  which  my  heart  desires  not  :  for  I,  lonely  of  life,  and 
crippled  of  shape,  am  insensible  to  the  fires  of  love  ;  and 
ever,  as  thou  and  thy  tribe  know,  I  have  shunned  the  eyes  o\ 


120  THE  PILGRIMS  OP  THE  RHINE. 

women,  for  the  maidens  laughed  at  my  halting  step  and  my 
sullen  features;  and  so  in  my  youth' I  learned  betimes  to 
banish  all  thoughts  of  love.  But  since  they  told  me  (as  they 
declared  to  thee),  that  only  through  that  marriage,  thou,  O 
beloved  prince  ?  canst  obtain  thy  father's  plumed  crown,.  I 
yield  me  to  their  will." 

"But,"  said  the  prince,  "not  until  I  am  king  can  I  give 
thee  my  sister  in  marriage;  for  thou  knowest  that  my  sire 
would  smite  me  to  the  dust,  if  I  asked  him  to  give  the  flower 
of  our  race  to  the  son  of  the  herdsman  Osslah." 

"  Thou  speakest  the  words  of  truth.  Go  home  and  fear 
not  :  but,  when  thou  art  king,  the  sacrifice  must  be  made,  and 
Orna  mine.  Alas  }  how  can  I  dare  to  lift  my  eyes  to  her  ! 
But  so  ordained  the  dread  kings  of  night ! — who  shall  gain- 
say their  word  ?  " 

"  The  day  that  sees  me  king,  sees  Orna  thine,"  answered 
the  prince. 

Morven  walked  forth,  as  was  his  wont,  alone  ;  and  he 
said  to  himself,  "The  king  is  old,  yet  may  he  live  long  be- 
tween me  and  mine  hope  ? "  and  he  began  to  cast  in  his  mind 
how  he  might  shorten  the  time.  Thus  absorbed,  he  wandered 
on  so  unheedingly,  that  night  advanced,  and  he  had  lost  his 
path  among  the  thick  W'oods,  and  knew  not  how  to  regain 
his  house  :  so  he  lay  down  quietly  beneath  a  tree,  and  rested 
till  day  dawned  ;  then  hunger  came  upon  him,  and  he  searched 
among  the  bushes  for  such  simple  roots  as  those  with  which 
— for  he  was  ever  careless  of  food — he  was  used  to  appease 
the  craving  of  nature.  He  found,  among  other  more  familiar 
herbs  and  roots,  a  red  berry  of  a  sweetish  taste,  which  he 
had  never  obser^•ed  before.  He  ate  of  it  sparingly,  and  had 
not  proceeded  far  in  the  wood  before  he  found  his  eyes  swim, 
and  a  deadly  sickness  came  over  him.  For  several  hours  he 
lay  convulsed  on  the  ground,  expecting  death  ;  but  the  gaunt 
spareness  of  his  frame,  and  his  unvarying  abstinence,  pre- 
vailed over  the  poison,  and  he  recovered  slowly,  and  after 
great  anguish  :  but  he  went  with  feeble  steps  back  to  the  spot 
where  the  berries  grew,  and,  plucking  several,  hid  them  in 
his  bosom,  and  by  nightfall  regained  the  city. 

The  next  day  he  went  forth  among  his  father's  herbs  and 
seizing  a  lamb,  forced  some  of  the  berries  into  its  stomach 
and  the  lamb  escaping  ran  away,  and  fell  down  dead.  Then 
Morven  took  some  more  of  the  berries  and  boiled  them  down, 
and  mixed  the  juice  with  wine,  and  he  ga^^  the  wine  in  .secret 
to  one  of  his  father's  servants,  and  the  ser\'ant  died. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  127 

Then  Mon-en  sought  the  king,  and  coming  into  his  pres- 
ence alone,  he  said  unto  him,  "  How  fares  my  lord  ?  " 

The  king  sat  on  a  couch,  made  of  the  skins  of  wolves, 
and  his  eye  was  glassy  and  dim  ;  but  vast  were  his  aged  limbs 
and  huge'  was  his  stature,  and  he  had  been  taller  by  a  head 
than  the  children  of  men,  and  none  living  could  bend  the 
bow  he  had  bent  in  youth.  Gray,  gaunt,  and  worn,  as  some 
mighty  bones  that  are  dug  at  times  from  the  bosom  of  the 
earth, — a  relic  of  the  strength  of  old. 

And  the  king  said,  faintly,  and  with  a  ghastly  laugh, — 

"  The  men  of  my  years  fare  ill.  What  avails  my  strength  ? 
Better  had  I  been  born  a  cripple  like  thee,^so  should  I  have 
had  nothing  to  lament  in  growing  old." 

The  red  flush  passed  over  Morven's  brow ;  but  he  bent 
humbly, — • 

"  O  king,  what  if  I  could  give  thee  back  thy  youth  ?  what 
if  I  could  restore  to  thee  the  vigor  which  distinguished  thee 
above  the  sons  of  men,  when  the  warriors  of  Alrich  fell  like 
grass  before  thy  sword  t  " 

Then  the  king  uplifted  his  dull  eyes,  and  he  said, — 

"What  meanest  thou,  son  of  Osslah  !  Surely  I  hear 
much  of  thy  great  wisdom,  and  how  thou  speakest  nightly 
with  the  stars.  Can  the  gods  of  the  night  give  unto  thee  the 
secret  to  make  the  old  young  ?  " 

"  Tempt  them  not  by  doubt,"  said  Morven,  reverently. 
"  All  things  are  possible  to  the  rulers  of  the  dark  hour ;  and, 
lo  !  the  star  that  loves  thy  servant  spake  to  him  at  the  dead 
of  night  and  said  '  Arise,  and  go  unto  the  king  ;  and  tell  him 
that  the  stars  honor  the  tribe  of  Oestrich,  and  remember  how 
the  king  bent  his  bov/  against  the  sons  of  Alrich  ;  wherefore, 
look  thou  under  the  stone  that  lies  to  the  right  of  thy  dwelling 
even  beside  the  pine-tree,  and  thou  shalt  see  a  vessel  of  clay, 
and  in  the  vessel  thou  wilt  find  a  sweet  liquid,  that  shall 
make  the  king  thy  master  forget  his  age  for  ever.  Therefore, 
my  lord,  when  the  morning  rose  I  went  forth,  and  looked 
under  the  stone,  and  behold  the  vessel  of  clay  ;  and  I  have 
brought  it  hither  for  my  lord  the  king." 

"  Quick — slave — quick  !  that  1  may  drink  and  regain  my 
youth  !  " 

"  Nay,  listen,  O  king  !  farther  said  the  star  to  me, — 

"  '  It' is  only  at  night,  when  the  stars  have  power  that  this 
their  gift  will  avail ;  wherefore,  the  king  must  wait  till  the 
hush  of  the  midnight,  when  the  moon  is  high,  and  then  may 
he  mingle  the  liquid  with  his  wine.     And  he  must  reveal  to 


128  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

none  that  he  hath  received  the  gift  from  the  hand  of  the  ser- 
vant of  the  stars.  For  they  do  their  work  in  secret,  and 
when  men  sleep  ;  therefore  they  love  not  the  babble  of 
mouths,  and  he  who  reveals  their  benefits  shall  surely  die.'  " 

"  Fear  not,"  said  the  king,  grasping  the  vessel ;  "  none 
shall  know  :  and,  behold,  I  will  rise  on  the  morrow;  and  my 
two  sons — wrangling  for  my  crown, — verily  I  shall  be  younger 
than  they  !  " 

Then  the  king  laughed  loud  ;  and  he  scarcely  thanked 
the  servant  of  the  stars,  neither  did  he  promise  him  reward  ; 
for  the  kings  in  those  days  had  little  thought, — save  for  them- 
selves. 

And  Morven  said  to  him,  "  Shall  I  not  attend  my  lord  ? 
for  without  me,  perchance,  the  drug  might  fail  of  its  effect." 

'  Ay,"  said  the  king,  "  rest  here." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Morven  ;  "  thy  servants  will  marvel  and 
talk  much,  if  they  see  the  son  of  Osslah  sojourning  in  thy 
palace.  So  would  the  displeasure  of  the  gods  of  night  per- 
chance be  incurred.  Suffer  that  the  lesser  door  of  the  palace 
be  unbarred,  so  that  at  the  night  hour,  when  the  moon  is 
midway  in  the  heavens,  I  may  steal  unseen  into  thy  chamber, 
and  mix  the  liquid  with  thy  wine." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  king.  "  Thou  art  wise,  though  thy 
limbs  are  crooked  and  curt ;  and  the  stars  might  have  chosen 
a  taller  man."  Then  the  king  laughed  again  and  Morven 
laughed  too,  but  there  was  danger  in  the  mirth  of  the  son  of 
Osslah. 

The  night  had  begim  to  wane,  and  the  inhabitants  of 
Oestrich  were  buried  in  deep  sleep,  when,  hark  !  a  sharp 
voice  was  heard  cr}dng  out  in  the  streets,  "  Woe,  woe  !  A- 
wake,  ye  sons  of  Oestrich — woe  !  "  Then  forth,  wild — hag- 
gard— alarmed — spear  in  hand,  rushed  the  giant  sons  of  the 
rugged  tribe,  and  they  saw  a  man  on  a  height  in  the  middle 
of  the  city,  shrieking  "  Woe  !  "  and  it  was  Morven,  the  son 
of  Osslah  !  And  he  said  unto  them,  as  they  gathered  round 
him,  "  Men  and  warriors,  tremble  as  ye  hear.  The  star  of 
the  west  hath  spoken  to  me,  and  thus  said  the  star  :  — "  Evil 
shall  fall  upon  the  kingly  house  of  Oestrich, — yea,  ere  the 
morning  dawn  ;  wherefore,  go  thou  mourning  into  the  streets, 
and  wake  the  inhabitants  to  woe  ! '  So  I  rose,  and  did  the 
bidding  of  the  star."  And  while  Morven  was  yet  speaking, 
a  servant  of  the  king's  house  ran  up  to  the  crowd,  crying 
loudly — "  The  king  is  dead  !  "  So  they  went  into  the  palace 
and  ^'ound  the  king  stark  upon  his  couch,  and  his  huge  limbs 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


129 


all  cramped  and  crippled  by  the  pangs  of  death,  and  his  hands 
clenched  as  if  in  menace  of  a  foe — the  Foe  of  all  living  flesh  ! 
Then  fear  came  on  the  gazers,  and  they  looked  on  Morven 
with  a  deeper  awe  than  the  boldest  warrior  would  have 
called  forth  ;  and  they  bore  him  back  to  the  council-hall  of 
the  wise  men,  wailing  and  clashing  their  arms,  in  woo,  and 
shouting,  ever  and  anon,  "  Honor  to  Morven  the  Prophet !  " 
And  that  was  the  first  time  the  word  prophet  was  ever  used 
in  those  countries. 

And  at  noon,  on  the  third  day  from  the  king's  death,  Siror 
sought  Morven,  and  he  said,  "  Lo,  my  father  is  no  more,  and 
the  people  meet  this  evening  at  sunset  to  elect  his  successor, 
and  the  warriors  and  the  young  men  will  surely  choose  my 
brother,  tor  he  is  more  known  in  war.  Fail  me  not,  there- 
fore." 

"  Peace,  boy  !  "  said  Morven,  sternly  ;  "  nor  dare  to  ques- 
tion the  truth  of  the  gods  of  night." 

For  Morv^en  now  began  to  presume  on  his  power  among 
the  joeople,  and  to  speak  as  rulers  speak,  even  to  the  sons  of 
kings.  And  the  voice  silenced  the  fiery  Siror,  nor  dared  he 
to  reply. 

"  Behold,"  said  Morv^en,  taking  up  a  chaplet  of  colored 
plumes,  "  wear  this  on  thy  head,  and  put  on  a  brave  face,  for 
the  people  like  a  hopeful  spirit,  and  go  down  with  thy  brother 
to  the  place  where  the  new  king  is  to  be  chosen,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  the  stars.  But,  above  all  things,  forget  not  that 
chaplet ;  it  has  been  blessed  by  the  gods  of  night." 

The  prince  took  the  chaplet  and  returned  home. 

It  was  evening,  and  the  wariiors  and  chiefs  of  the  tribe 
were  assembled  in  the  place  where  the  new  king  was  to  be 
elected.  And  the  voices  of  the  many  favored  Prince  Voltock, 
the  brother  of  Siror,  for  he  had  slain  twelve  foemen  with  his 
spear ;  and  verily,  in  those  days,  that  was  a  great  virtue  in  a 
king. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  in  the  streets,  and  the  people 
cried  out,  "  Way  for  Morven  the  Prophet,  the  prophet!" 
For  the  people  held  the  son  of  Osslah  in  even  greater  respect 
than  did  the  chiefs.  Now,  since  he  had  become  of  note, 
Morven  had  assumed  a  majesty  of  air  which  the  son  of  the 
herdsman  knew  not  in  his  earlier  days  ;  and  albeit  his  stature 
was  short,  and  his  limbs  halted,  yet  his  countenance  was 
grave  and  high.  He  only  of  the  tribe  wore  a  garment  that 
swept  the  ground,  and  his  head  was  bare,  and  his  long  black 
hair  descended  to  his  girdle,  and  rarely  was  change  or  human 


I^o  "TI^^  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

passion  seen  in  his  calm  aspect.  He  feasted  not,  nor  drank  wine, 
nor  was  his  presence  frequent  in  the  streets.  He  laughed 
not,  neither  did  he  smile,  save  when  alone  in  the  forest,  and 
then  he  laughed  at  the  follies  of  his  tribe. 

So  he  walked  slowly  through  the  crowd,  ne' her  turning 
to  the  left  nor  to  the  right,  as  the  crowd  gave  way  ;  and  he 
3  ipported  his  steps  with  a  staff  of  the  knotted  pine. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  chiefs  were 
met,  and  the  two  princes  stood  in  the  centre,  he  bade  the 
people  around  him  proclaim  silence  ;  then,  mounting  on  a 
huge  fragment  of  rock,  he  thus  spoke  to  the  multitude  : — 

"  Princes,  Warriors,  and  Bards  !  ye,  O  council  of  the  wise 
men  !  and  ye,  O  hunters  of  the  forests,  and  snarers  of  the 
fishes  of  the  streams  !  hearken,  to  Morven,  the  son  of  Osslah. 
Ye  'know  that  I  am  lowly  of  race,  and  weak  of  limb  ;  but  did 
I  not  give  into  your  hands  the  tribe  of  Alrich,  and  did  ye  not 
slay  them  in  the  dead  of  night  with  a  great  slaughter  ?  Surely, 
ye  must  know  this,  of  hirnself,  did  not  the  herdsman's  son  ; 
surely  he  was  but  the  agent  of  the  bright  gods  that  love  the 
children  of  Oestrich.  Three  nights  since,  when  slumber  was 
on  the  earth,  was  not  my  voice  heard  in  the  streets  ?  Did  I 
not  proclaim  woe  to  the  kingly  house  of  Oestrich  ?  and  rerily 
the  dark  arm  had  fallen  on  the  bosom  of  the  mighty,  that  Is 
no  more.  Could  I  have  dreamed  this  thing  merely  in  a 
dream,  or  was  I  not  as  the  voice  of  the  bright  gods  that  watch 
over  the  tribes  of  Oestrich  ?  Wherefore,  O  men  and  chiefs  ! 
scorn  not  the  son  of  Osslah,  but  listen  to  his  words  for  are 
they  not  the  wisdom  of  the  stars  ?  Behold,  last  night,  I  sat 
alone  in  the  valley,  and  the  trees  were  hushed  around,  and 
not  a  breath  stirred  ;  and  I  looked  upon  the  star  that  counsels 
the  son  of  Osslah  ;  and  I  said, '  Dread  conqueror  of  the  cloud  ! 
thou  that  bathest  thy  beauty  in  the  streams  and  piercest  the 
pine-boughs  with  thy  presence,  behold  thy  servant  grieved  be- 
cause the  mighty  one  hath  passed  away,  and  many  foes  sur- 
round the  house  of  my  brethren  ;  and  it  is  well  that  they 
should  have  a  king  valiant  and  prosperous  in  w-ar,  the  cher- 
ished of  the  stars.  Wherefore,  O  star  !  as  thou  gavest  into  our 
hands  the  warriors  of  Alrich,  and  didst  warn  us  of  the  fall  of  the 
oak  of  our  tribe,  wherefore  I  pray  thee  give  unto  the  people 
a  token  that  they  may  choose  that  king  whom  the  gods  of 
the  night  prefer  ! '  Then  a  low  voice,  sweeter  than  the  music 
of  the  bard,  stole  along  the  silence.  '  Thy  love  for  thy  race 
is  grateful  to  the  stars  of  night  :  go  then,  son  of  Osslah,  and 
seek  the  meeting  of  the  chiefs  and   the  people  to  choose  a 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  131 

king,  and  tell  them  not  to  scorn  thee  because  thou  art  slow 
to  the  chase,  and  little  known  in  war  ;  for  the  stars  give  thee 
wisdom  as  a  recompense  for  all.  Say  unto  the  people  that 
as  the  wise  men  of  the  council  shape  their  lessons  by  the 
flight  of  birds,  so  by  the  flight  of  birds  shall  a  token  be  given 
unto  them,  and  they  shall  choose  their  kings.  For,  saith  the 
star  of  night,  the  birds  are  the  children  of  the  winds,  they 
pass  to  and  fro  along  the  ocean  of  the  air,  and  visit  the  clouds 
that  are  the  war-ships  of  the  gods.  And  their  music  is  but 
broken  melodies  which  they  glean  from  the  harps  above. 
Are  they  not  the  messengers  of  the  storm  ?  Ere  the  stream 
chafes  against  the  bank,  and  the  rain  descends,  know  )'e  not, 
by  the  wail  of  birds  and  their  low  circles  over  the  earth,  that 
the  tempest  is  at  hand  ?  Wherefore,  wisely  do  ye  deem  that 
the  children  of  the  air  are  the  fit  interpreters  between  the 
pons  of  men  and  the  lords  of  the  world  above.  Say  then  to 
the  people  and  the  chiefs,  that  they  shall  take,  from  among 
the  doves  that  build  their  nests  in  the  roof  of  the  palace,  a 
white  dove  and  they  shall  let  it  loose  in  the  air,  and  verily 
the  gods  of  the  night  shall  deem  the  dove  as  a  prayer  coming 
from  the  people,  and  they  shall  send  a  messenger  to  grant 
the  prayer  and  give  to  the  tribes  of  Oestrich  a  king  worthy 
of  themselves.' 

"  With  that  the  star  spoke  no  more." 

Then  the  friends  of  Voltock  murmured  among  themselves, 
"and  they  said,  "  Shall  this  man  dictate  to  us  who  shall  be 
king  ?  "  But  the  people  and  tlie  warriors  shouted,  "  Listen  to 
the  star  ;  do  we  not  give  or  deny  battle  according  as  the  bird 
flies, — shall  we  not  by  the  same  token  choose  him  by  whom 
the  battle  should  be  led  ?  "  And  the  thing  seemed  natural 
to  them,  for  it  was  after  the  custom  of  the  tribe.  Then  they 
took  one  of  the  doves  that  built  in  the  roof  of  the  palace, 
and  they  brought  it  to  the  spot  where  Morven  stood,  and  he, 
looking  up  to  the  stars  and  muttering  to  himself,  released 
the  bird. 

There  was  a  copse  of  trees  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
spot,  and  as  the  dove  ascended,  a  hawk  suddenly  rose  from 
the  copse  and  pursued  the  dove  ;  and  the  dove  was  terrified, 
and  soared  circling  high  above  the  crowd,  when  lo,  the  hawk, 
poising  itself  one  moment  on  its  wings,  swooped  with  a  sud- 
den swoop,  and,  abandoning  its  prey  alighted  on  the  plumed 
head  of  Siror. 


iSa 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


"  Behold,  "  cried  Morven  in  a  loud  voice,  "  behold  your 
king !  " 

"  Hail,  all  hail  the  king!  "  shouted  the  people.  "  All  hail 
the  chosen  of  the  stars  !" 

Then  Morven  lifted  his  right  hand,  and  the  hawk  left  the 
prince  and  alighted  on  Morven's  shoulder.  "  Bird  of  the 
gods,  "  said  ho  reverently,  "  hast  thou  not  a  secret  message 
for  my  ear  1  "  Then  the  hawk  put  its  beak  to  Morven's  ear, 
and  Morven  bowed  his  head  submissively  ;  and  the  hawk 
rested  with  Morven  from  that  moment,  and  would  not  be 
scared  away.  And  Mors'en  said,  "  The  stars  have  sent  me 
this  bird,  that,  in  the  daytime  when  I  see  them  not,  we  may 
never  be  without  a  counsellor  in  distress." 

So  Siror  was  made  king,  and  Morven  the  son  of  Osslah 
was  constrained  by  the  king's  will  to  take  Orna  for  his  wife  ; 
and  the  people  and  the  chiefs  honored  Morven  the  prophet 
above  all  the  elders  of  the  tribe. 

One  day  Morven  said  unto  himself,  musing,  "  Am  I  not 
already  equal  with  the  king  ?  nay,  is  not  the  king  my  servant  ? 
did  I  not  place  him  over  the  heads  of  his  brothers  .''  am  I  not, 
therefore,  more  fit  to  reign  than  he  is  .-'  shall  I  not  push  him 
from  his  seat  ?  It  is  a  troublesome  and  stormy  office  to  reign 
over  the  wild  men  of  Oestrich,  to  feast  in  the  crowded  hall, 
and  to  lead  the  warriors  to  the  fray.  Surely  if  I  feasted  not, 
neither  went  out  to  war,  they  might  say,  this  is  no  king,  but 
the  cripple  Morven  ;  and  some  of  the  race  of  Siror  might  slay 
me  secretly.  But  can  I  not  be  greater  far  than  kings,  and 
continue  to  choose  and  govern  them,  living  as  now  at  mine 
own  ease  ?  Verily  the  stars  shall  give  me  a  new  palace,  and 
many  subjects.  " 

Among  the  \vise  men  was  Darvan  ;  and  Morven  feared 
him,  for  his  eve  often  sought  the  movements  of  the  son  of 
Osslah. 

And  Morven  said,  "  It  were  better  to  frusf  this  man  than 
to  /'//>/«',  for  surely  I  want  a  helpmate  and  a  friend. "  So  he 
said  to  the  wise  man,  as  he  sat  alone  watching  the  setting 
sun  : — 

"  It  seemeth  to  me  O  Darvan  !  that  we  ought  to  build  a 
great  pile  in  honor  of  the  stars,  and  the  pile  should  be  more 
glorious  than  all  the  palaces  of  the  chiefs  and  the  palace  of 
the  king  ;  for  are  not  the  stars  our  masters  ?  And  thou  and  I 
should  be  the  chief  dwellers  in  this  new  palace,  and  we  would 
serve  the  gods  of   night   and   fatten   their   altars  with   the 


THE  IJLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


133 


choicest  of  the  herd,  and  the  freshest  of  the  fruits  of  the 
earth." 

And  Darvan,  said,  "  Thou  speakest  as  becomes  the  ser- 
vant of  the  stars.  But  will  the  people  help  to  build  the 
pile,  for  they  are  a  warlike  race,  and  they  love  not  toil  ?  " 

And  Mor\'en  answered,  "  Doubtless  the  stars  will  ordain 
the  work  to  be  done.     Fear,  not." 

"  In  truth  thou  art  a  wondrous  man,  thy  words  ever  come 
to  pass,"  answered  Darvan  ;  "  and  I  wish  thou  wouldest  teach 
me,  friend,  the  language  of  the  stars." 

"  Assuredly,  if  thou  ser\-est  me,  thou  shalt  know,"  answered 
the  proud  Morven ;  and  Darvaii  was  secretly  wrath  that  the 
son  of  the  herdsman  should  command  the  service  of  an  elder 
and  a  chief. 

And  when  Morven  returned  to  his  wife,  he  found  her  weep- 
ing much. 

Now  she  loved  the  son  of  Osslah  with  an  exceeding  love, 
for  he  was  not  savage  and  fierce  as  the  men  she  had  known, 
and  she  was  proud  of  his  fame  among  the  tribe  ;  and  he  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  asked  her  why  she   wept. 

Then  she  told  him  that  her  brother,  the  king,  had  visited 
her,  and  had  spoken  bitter  words  of  Morven  :  "  He  taketh 
from  me  the  affection  of  my  people,"  said  Siror,  "  and 
blindeth  them  with  lies.  And  since  he  hath  made  me  king, 
what  if  he  take  my  kingdom  from  me  ?  Verily  a  new  tale  of 
the  stars  might  undo  the  old."  And  the  king  had  ordered 
her  to  keep  watch  on  Morven's  secrecy,  and  to  see  whether 
truth  was  in  him  when  he  boasted  of  his  commune  with  the 
Powers  of  Night. 

But  Orna  loved  Morven  better  than  Siror,  therefore  she  told 
her  husband  all. 

And  Morven  resented  the  king's  ingratitude,  and  was 
troubled  much,  for  a  king  is  a  powerful  foe  ;  but  he  comforted 
Orna,  and  bade  her  dissemble,  and  complain  also  of  him  to 
her  brother,  so  that  he  might  confide  to  her  unsuspectingly 
whatsoever  he  might  design  against  Morven. 

There  was  a  cave  by  Morven's  house  in  which  he  kept  the 
sacred  hawk,  and  wherein  he  secretly  trained  and  nurtured 
other  birds  against  future  need,  and  the  door  of  the  cave  was 
always  barred.  And  one  day  he  was  thus  engaged  when  he 
beheld  a  chink  in  the  wall,  that  he  had  never  noted  before, 
and  the  sun  came  playfully  in  ;  and  while  he  looked  he  per- 
ceived the  sunbeam  was  darkened,  and  presently  he  saw  a 
human  face   peering   in   through   the   chink.     And  Morven 


134  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


trembled,  for  he  knew  he  had  been  watched.  He  ran 
hastily  from  the  cave,  but  the  spy  disappeared  amongst 
the  trees ;  and  Morven  went  straight  to  the  chamber  of  Dar- 
van  and  sat  himself  down.  And  r3arvan  did  not  return  home 
till  late,  and  he  started  and  turned  pale  when  he  saw  Morv^en. 
But  Morven  greeted  him  as  a  brother,  and  bade  him  to  a 
feast,  which,  for  the  first  time,  he  purposed  giving  at  the  full 
of  the  moon,  in  honor  of  the  stars.  And  going  out  of  Dar- 
van's  chamber  he  returned  to  his  wife,  and  bade  her  rend 
her  hair,  and  go  at  the  dawn  of  day  to  the  king  her  brother, 
and  complain  bitterly  of  Morven's  treatment,  and  pluck  rhe 
black  plans  from  the  breast  of  the  king.  "  For  surely,"  said 
he,  "  Darvan  hath  lied  to  thy  brother,  and  some  evil  waits 
me  that  I  would  fain  know." 

So  the  next  morning  Orna  sought  the  king,  and  she  said, 
"The  herdsman's  son  hath  reviled  me,  and  spoken  harsh 
words  to  me  ;  shall  I  not  be  avenged  .?  " 

Then  the  king  stamped  his  feet  and  shook  his  mighty 
sword.  "  Surely  thou  shalt  be  avenged,  for  I  have  learned 
from  one  of  the  elders  that  which  convinceth  me  that  the 
man  hath  lied  to  the  people,  and  the  baseborn  shall  surely 
die.  Yea,  the  first  time  that  he  goeth  alone  into  the  forest, 
my  brother  and  I  will  fall  upon  him,  and  smite  him  to  the 
death."     And  with  this  comfort  Siror  dismissed  Orna. 

And  Orna  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  husband.  "  Fly 
now,  O  my  beloved ! — fly  into  the  forests  afar  from  my 
brethren,  or  surely  the  sword  of  Siror  will  end  thy  days." 

Then  the  son  of  Osslah  folded  his  arms,  and  seemed 
buried  in  black  thoughts  ;  nor  did  he  heed  the  voice  of  Orna, 
until  again  and  again  she  had  implored  him  to  fly. 

"  Fly  !  "  he  said  at  length.  "  Nay,  I  was  doubting  what 
punishment  the  stars  should  pour  down  upon  our  foe.  Let 
warriors  fly.  Morven  the  prophet  conquers  by  arms  mightier 
than  the  sword." 

Nevertheless  Morven  was  perplexed  in  his  mind,  and 
knew  not  how  to  save  himself  from  the  vengeance  of  the 
king.  Now,  while  he  was  musing  hopelessly,  he  heard  a  roai 
of  waters ;  and  behold  the  river,  for  it  was  now  the  end  of 
autumn,  had  burst  its  bounds,  and  was  rushing  along  the  val 
ley  to  the  houses  of  the  city.  And  now  the  men  of  the  tribe, 
and  the  women,  and  the  children,  came  running,,  and  with 
shrieks,  to  Morven's  house,  crying,  "Behold,  the  river  has 
burst  upon  us  !     Save  us,  O  ruler  of  the  stars  ! " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  133 

Then  the  sudden  thought  broke  upon  Morven,  and  he  re- 
soived  to  risk  his  fate  upon  one  desperate  scheme. 

And  he  came  out  from  the  house,  calm  and  sad,  and  he 
said,  "  Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask  ;  I  cannot  save  ye  from 
this  peril  :  ye  have  brought  it  on  yourselves." 

And  they  cried,  "  How  ?  O  son  of  Osslah  ? — we  are  igno- 
rant of  our  crime." 

And  he  answered,  "  Go  down  to  the  king's  palace  and 
V  a't  before  it,  and  surely  I  will  follow  ye,  and  ye  shall  learn 
whtrefore  ye  have  incurred  this  punishment  from  the  gods  ?" 

Then  the  crowd  rolled  murmuringly  back,  as  a  receding 
sea  ;  and  when  it  was  gone  from  the  place,  Morven  went 
alone  to  the  house  of  Darvan,  which  was  next  his  own ;  and 
Darvan  was  greatly  terrified,  for  he  was  of  a  great  age,  and 
had  no  children,  neither  friends,  and  he  feared  that  he  could 
not  of  himself  escape  the  waters. 

And  Morven  said  to  him,  soothingly,  **  Lo,  the  people 
love  me,  and  I  will  see  that  thou  art  saved  ;  for  verily  thou 
hast  been  friendly  to  me,  and  done  me  much  service  with 
the  king." 

And  as  he  thus  spake,  Morven  opened  the  door  of  the 
house  and  looked  forth,  and  saw  that  they  were  quite  alone  ; 
then  he  seized  the  old  man  by  the  throat,  and  ceased  not  his 
grip  till  he  was  quite  dead.  And  leaving  the  body  of  the 
elder  on  the  floor,  Morven  stole  from  the  house  and  shut  the 
gate.  And  as  he  was  going  to  his  cave  he  mused  a  little 
while,  when  hearing  the  mighty  roar  of  the  waves  advancing, 
and  far  off  the  shrieks  of  women,  he  lifted  up  his  head,  and 
said,  proudly,  "  No  !  in  this  hour  terror  alone  shall  be  my 
slave  ;  I  will  use  no  art  save  the  power  of  my  soul."  So, 
leaning  on  his  pine-staff  he  strode  down  to  the  palace.  And 
it  was  now  evening,  and  many  of  the  men  held  torches,  that 
they  might  see  each  other's  faces  in  the  universal  fear.  Red 
flashed  the  quivering  flames  on  the  dark  robes  and  pale  front 
of  Morven  ;  and  he  seemed  mightier  than  the  rest,  because 
his  face  alone  was  calm  amidst  the  tumult.  And  louder  and 
hoarser  came  the  roar  of  the  waters  ;  and  swift  rushed  the 
shades  of  night  over  the  hastening  tide. 

And  Morven  said  in  a  stern  voice,  "  Where  is  the  king  ; 
and  wherefore  is  he  absent  from  his  people  in  the  hour  oi 
dread  ?  "  Then  the  gate  of  the  palace  opened  ;  and,  behold, 
Siror  was  sitting  in  the  hall  by  the  vast  pine-fire,  and  hi? 
brother  by  his  side,  and  his  chiefs  around  him,  for  they  would 


136  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

not  deign  to  come  amongst  the  crowd  at  the  bidding  of  the 
herdsman's  son. 

Then  Morven,  standing  upon  a  rock  above  the  heads  of 
the  people  (the  same  rock  whereon  he  had  proclaimed  the 
king),  thus  spake, — 

"  Ye  desired  to  know,  O  sons  of  Oestrich  !  wherefore  the 
river  hath  burst  its  bounds,  and  the  peril  hath  come  upon 
you.  Learn,  then,  that  the  stars  resent  as  the  foulest  of 
human  crimes,  an  insult  to  their  servants  and  delegates  below. 
Ye  are  all  aware  of  the  manner  of  life  of  Morven,  whom  ye 
have  surnamed  the  Prophet  !  He  harms  not  man  nor  beast ; 
he  lives  alone  ;  and,  far  from  the  wild  joys  of  the  warrior 
tribe,  he  worships  in  awe  and  fear  the  Powers  of  Night.  So 
is  he  able  to  advise  ye  of  the  coming  danger, — so  is  he  able 
to  save  ye  from  the  foe.  Thus  are  your  huntsmen  swift  and 
your  warriors  bold  ;  and  thus  do  your  cattle  bring  forth  their 
young,  and  the  earth  its  fruits.  What  think  ye,  and  what  do 
ye  ask  to  hear .-'  Listen,  men  of  Oestrich  ! — they  have  laid 
snares  for  my  life  ;  and  there  are  amongst  you  those  who 
have  whetted  the  sword  against  the  bosom  that  is  only  filled 
with  love  for  you  all.  Therefore  have  the  stern  lords  of 
heaven  loosened  the  chains  of  the  river — therefore  doth  this 
evil  menace  ye.  Neither  will  it  pass  away  until  they  who 
dug  the  pit  for  the  servant  of  the  stars  are  buried  in  the 
same." 

Then,  by  the  red  torches,  the  faces  of  the  men  looked 
fierce  and  threatening ;  and  ten  thousand  voices  shouted 
forth,  "  Name  them  who  conspired  against  thy  life,  O  holy 
prophet !  and  surely  they  shall  be  torn  limb  from  limb." 

And  Morven  turned  aside,  and  they  saw  that  he  wept  bit- 
terly ;  and  he  said, — 

"  Ye  have  asked  me,  and  I  have  answered :  but  now 
scarce  will  ye  believe  the  foe  that  I  have  provoked  against 
me  ;  and  by  the  heavens  themselves,  I  swear,  that  if  my  death 
would  satisfy  their  fury,  nor  bring  down  upon  yourselves,  and 
your  children's  children,  the  anger  of  the  throned  stars, 
gladly  would  I  give  my  bosom  to  the  knife.  Yes,"  he  cried, 
lifting  up  his  voice,  and  pointing  his  shadowy  arm  towards 
the  hall  where  the  king  sat  by  the  pine-fire  — "  yes,  thou 
whom  by  my  voice  the  stars  chose  above  thy  brother — yes, 
Siror,  the  guilty  one  !  take  thy  sword,  and  come  hither — ■ 
strike,  if  thou  hast  the  heart  to  strike,  the  Prophet  of  the 
Gods ! " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  i^y 

The  king  started  to  his  feet,  and  the  crowd  were  hushed 
in  a  shuddering  silence. 

Llorven  resumed, — 

*'  Know  then,  O  men  of  Oestrich !  that  Siror,  and  Voltoch 
his  brother,  and  Darv^an  the  elder  of  the  wise  men,  have  pur- 
posed to  slay  your  prophet,  even  at  such  hour  as  when  alone 
he  seeks  the  shade  of  the  forest  to  devise  new  benefits  for 
you.     Let  the  king  deny  it,  if  he  can  !  " 

Then  Voltoch,  of  the  giant  limbs,  strode  forth  from  the 
hall  and  his  sjDcar  quivered  in  his  hand. 

"  Rightly  hast  thou  spoken,  base  son  of  my  father's  herds- 
man !  and  for  thy  sins  shalt  thou  surely  die  ;  for  thou  liest 
when  thou  speakest  of  thy  power  with  the  stars,  and  thou 
laughest  at  the  folly  of  them  who  hear  thee  :  wherefore  put 
him  to  death." 

Then  the  chiefs  in  the  hall  clashed  their  arms,  and 
rushed  forth  to  slay  the  son  of  Osslah. 

But  he,  stretching  his  unarmed  hands  on  high,  exclaimed, 
"  Hear  him,  O  dread  ones  of  the  night  ! — -hark  how  he 
blaspbemeth  ?  " 

Then  the  crowd  took  up  the  word,  and  cried,  "  He 
blasphemeth — he  blasphemeth  against  the  prophet  !  " 

But  the  king  and  the  chiefs  who  hated  Morven,  because 
of  his  power  with  the  people,  rushed  into  the  crowd ;  and 
the  crowd  were  irresolute,  nor  knew  they  how  to  act,  for 
never  yet  had  they  rebelled  against  their  chiefs,  and  they 
feared  alike  the  prophet  and  the  king. 

And  Siror  cried,  "  Summon  Darvan  to  us,  for  he  hath 
watched  the  steps  of  Morven,  and  he  shall  lift  the  veil  from 
my  people's  eyes."  Then  three  of  the  swift  of  foot  started 
forth  to  the  house  of  Darvan. 

And  Morven  cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Hark  !  thus 
saith  the  star  who,  now  riding  through  yonder  cloud  breaks 
forth  upon  my  eyes — '  For  the  lie  that  the  elder  hath  uttered 
against  my  servant,  the  curse  of  the  stars  shall  fall  upon 
him.'  Seek,  and  as  ye  find  him  so  may  ye  find  ever  the  foes 
of  Morven  and  the  gods  !  " 

A  chill  and  an  icy  fear  fell  over  the  crowd,  and  even  the 
cheek  of  Siror  grew  pale  ;  and  Morven,  erect  and  dark  above 
the  waving  torches,  stood  motionless  with  folded  arms. 
And  hark — far  and  fast  came  on  the  war-steeds  of  the  wave 
— the  people  heard  them  marching  to  the  land,  and  tossing 
their  white  manes  in  the  roaring  wind. 

"  Lo,  as   ye  listen,"   said   Morven,  calmly,     "  the   river 


138  THE  lULGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

sweeps  on.     Haste,   for   the   gods  will  have  a  victim,  be   it 
your  prophet  or  your  king." 

"  Slave  !  "  shouted  Siror,  and  his  spear  left  his  hand,  and 
far  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  sped  hissing  beside 
the  dark  form  of  Morven,  and  rent  the  trunk  of  the  oak 
behind.  Then  the  people,  wroth  at  the  danger  of  their 
beloved  seer,  uttered  a  wJd  yell,  and  gathered  round  him 
with  brandished  swjrds,  facing  their  chieftains  and  their 
king.  But  at  that  instant,  ere  the  war  had  broken  forth 
among  the  tribe,  the  three  warriors  returned,  and  they  bore 
Darvan  on  their  shoulders,  and  laid  him  at  the  feet  of  the 
king,  and  they  said,  tremblingly,  "  Thus  found  we.  the  eldei 
in  the  centre  of  his  own  hall."  And  the  people  saw  that 
Darvan  was  a  corpse,  and  that  the  prediction  of  Morven  was 
thus  verified.  "  So  perish  the  enemies  of  Morven  and  the 
Stars  !  "  cried  the  son  of  Osslah.  And  the  people  echoed 
the  cry.  Then  the  fury  of  Siror  was  at  its  height,  and  wav- 
ing his  sword  above  his  head  he  plunged  into  the  crowd, 
"  Thy  blood,  baseborn,  or  mine  !  " 

"  So  be  it !  "  answered  Morven,  quailing  not.  "  People, 
smite  the  blasphemer  !  Hark  how  the  river  pours  down  upon 
your  children  and  your  hearths  !     On,  on,  or  ye  perish  1  " 

And  Siror  fell,  pierced  by  five  hundred  spears. 

"  Smite  !  smite  !  "  cried  Morven,  as  the  chiefs  of  the 
royal  house  gathered  round  the  king.  And  the  clash  of 
swords,  and  the  gleam  of  spears,  and  the  cries  of  the  dying, 
and  the  yell  of  the  trampling  people,  mingled  with  the  roar  of 
the  elements,  and  the  voices  of  the  rushing  wave. 

Three  hundred  of  the  chiefs  perished  that  night  by  the 
swords  of  their  own  tribe.  And  the  last  cry  of  the  victors 
was,  "  Morven  the  prophet, — Morvm  the  king/" 

And  the  son  of  Osslah,  seeing  the  waves  now  spreading 
over  the  valley,  led  Orna  his  wife,  and  the  men  of  Oestrich, 
their  women,  and  their  children,  to  a  high  mount,  where  they 
waited  the  dawning  sun.  But  Orna  sat  apart  and  wept  bit- 
terly, for  her  brothers  were  no  more,  and  her  race  had  per- 
ished from  the  earth.  And  Morvan  sought  to  comfort  her 
in  vain. 

When  the  morning  rose  they  saw  that  the  river  had  over- 
spread the  greater  part  of  the  city,  and  now  stayed  its 
course  among  the  hollows  of  the  vale.  Then  Morven  said  to 
the  people,  "  The  star-kings  are  avenged^  and  their  wrath  ap- 
peased. Tarry  only  here  until  the  waters  have  melted  into 
the  crevices  of  the  soil."  And  on  the  fourth  day  thev  returned 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  139 

to  the  city,and  no  man  dared  to  name  another,  save  Morven, 
as  the  king. 

But  Morven  retired  into  his  cave  and  mused  deeply ;  and 
then  assembling  the  people,  he  gave  them  new  laws  ;  and  he 
made  them  build  a  mighty  temple  in  honor  of  the  stars,  and 
made  them  heap  within  it  all  that  the  tribe  held  most  precious. 
And  he  took  unto  him  fifty  children  from  the  most  famous  of 
the  tribe  ;  and  he  took  also  ten  from  among  the  men  who 
had  served  him  best,  and  he  ordained  that  they  should  serve 
the  stars  in  the  great  temple  :  and  Mor\^en  was  their  chief.  And 
he  put  away  the  crown  they  pressed  upon  him,  and  he  chose 
from  among  the  elders  a  new  king.  And  he  ordained  that 
henceforth  the  sei-vants  only  of  the  stars  in  the  great  temple 
should  elect  the  king  and  the  rulers,  and  hold  council  and 
proclaim  war :  but  he  suffered  the  king  to  feast,  and  to  hunt, 
and  to  make  merry  in  the  banquet-halls.  And  Morven  built 
altars  in  the  temple,  and  was  the  first  who,  in  the  North, 
sacrificed  the  beast  and  the  bird,  and  afterwards  human  flesh, 
upon  the  altars.  And  he  drew  auguries  from  the  entrails  of 
the  victim,  and  made  schools  for  the  science  of  the  prophet ; 
and  Morven's  piety  was  the  wonder  of  the  tribe,  in  that  he 
refused  to  be  a  king.  And  Morven  the  high  priest  was  ten 
thousand  times  mightier  than  the  king.  He  taught  the  people 
to  till  the  ground,  and  to  sow  the  herb  ;  and  by  his  wisdom 
and  the  valor  that  his  prophecies  instilled  into  men,  he  con- 
quered all  the  neighboring  tribes.  And  the  sons  of  Oestrich 
spread  themselves  over  a  mighty  empire,  and  with  them  spread 
the  name  and  the  laws  of  Morven.  And  in  every  province 
which  he  conquered  he  ordered  them  to  build  a  temple  to  the 
stars. 

But  a  heavy  sorrow  fell  upon  the  years  of  Morven.  The 
sister  of  Siror  bowed  down  her  head  and  survived  not  long 
the  slaughter  of  her  race.  And  she  left  Morven  childless. 
And  he  mourned  bitterly  and  as  one  distraught,  for  her  only 
in  the  world  had  his  heart  the  power  to  love.  And  he  sat 
down  and  covered  his  face,  saying  : — 

"  Lo  !  I  have  toiled  and  travailed  ;  and  never  before  in 
the  world  did  man  conquer  what  I  have  conquered.  Verily 
the  empire  of  the  iron  thews  and  the  giant  limbs  is  no  more  ! 
I  have  founded  a  new  power,  that  henceforth  shall  sway  the 
lands  ; — the  empire  of  a  plotting  brain  and  a  conimanding 
mind.  But,  behold  !  my  fate  is  barren,  and  I  feel  already 
that  it  will  grow  neither  fruit  nor  tree  as  a  shelter  to  mine  old 
age.     Desolate  and  lonely  shall  I  pass  unto  my  grave.     O 


I40  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIA'E. 

Orna,  my  beautiful  !  my  loved  !  none  were  like  unto  thee, 
and  to  thy  love  do  I  owe  my  glory  and  my  life  !  Would  for 
thy  sake,  O  sweet  bird  !  that  nestled  in  the  dark  cavern  of 
my  heart, — would  for  thy  sake  that  thy  brethren  had  been 
spared,  for  verily  with  my  life  would  I  have  purchased 
thine.  Alas  '  only  when  I  lost  thee  did  I  find  that  thy  love 
was  dearer  to  me  than  the  fear  of  others  ! "  And 
Morven  mourned  night  and  day,  and  none  might  com- 
fort him. 

But  from  that  time  forth  he  gave  himself  solely  up  to  the 
cares  of  his  calling ;  and  his  nature  and  his  affections,  and  what- 
ever there  was  yet  left  soft  in  him,  grew  hard  like  stone ;  and 
he  was  a  man  without  love,  and  he  forbade  love  and  marriage 
to  the  priest. 

Now,  in  his  latter  years,  there  arose  other  prophets  ;  for 
the  world  had  grown  wiser  even  by  Morven's  wisdom,  and 
some  did  say  unto  themselves,  "  Behold  Morven,  the  herds- 
man's son,  is  a  king  of  kings  :  this  did  the  stars  for  their  ser- 
vant ;  shall  we  not  also  be  servants  to  the  star.?  " 

And  they  wore  black  garments  like  Morven,  and  went 
about  prophesying  of  what  the  stars  foretold  them.  And 
Morven  was  exceeding  wroth ;  for  he,  more  than  other  men, 
knew  that  the  prophets  lied  ;  wherefore  he  went  forth  against 
them  with  the  ministers  of  the  temple,  and  he  took  them,  and 
burned  them  by  a  slow  fire  :  for  thus  said  Morven  to 
the  people  :  "  a  true  prophet  hath  honor — but  /  only  am 
a  true  prophet ; — to  all  false  prophets  there  shall  be  surely 
death."  ^ 

And  the  people  applauded  the  piety  of  the  son  of 
Osslah. 

And  Morven  educated  the  wisest  of  the  children  in  the 
mysteries  of  the  temple,  so  that  they  grew  up  to  succeed  him 
worthily. 

And  he  died  full  of  years  and  honor;  and  they  carved  his 
effigy  on  a  mighty  stone  before  the  temple,  and  the  effigy 
endured  for  a  thousand  ages,  and  whoso  looked  on  it  trem- 
bled ;  for  the  face  was  calm  with  the  calmness  of  unspeak- 
able awe  ! 

And  Morven  was  the  first  mortal  of  the  North  that  made 
Religion  the  stepping-stone  to  Power.  Of  a  surety  Morven 
was  a  great  man  ! 


It  was  the  last  night  of  the  old  year,  and  the  stars  sat» 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE  141 

each  upon  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched  with  sleepless  ej^es 
upon  the  world.  The  night  was  dark  and  troubled,  the 
dread  winds  were  abroad,  and  fast  and  frequent  hurried  the 
clouds  beneath  the  thrones  of  the  kings  of  night.  And  ever 
and  anon  fieiy  meteors  flashed  along  the  depths  of  heaven, 
and  were  again  swallowed  up  in  the  grave  of  darkness.  But 
far  below  his  brethren,  and  with  a  lurid  haze  around  his  orb, 
sat  the  discontented  star  that  had  watched  over  the  hunters 
of  the  North. 

And  on  the  lowest  abyss  of  space  there  was  spread  a 
thick  and  mighty  gloom,  from  which,  as  from  a  cauldron,  rose 
columns  of  wreathing  smoke  ;  and  still,  v.-hen  the  great  winds 
rested  for  an  instant  on  their  paths,  voices  of  woe  and 
laughter,  mingled  with  shrieks,  were  heard  booming  from  the 
abyss  to  the  upper  air. 

And  now,  in  the  middest  night,  a  vast  figure  rose  slowly 
from  the  abyss,  and  its  wings  threw  blackness  over  the 
world.  High  upward  to  the  throne  of  the  discontented  star 
sailed  the  fearful  shape,  and  the  star  trembled  on  his  throne 
when  the  form  stood  before  him  face  to  face. 

And  the  shape  said,  "  Hail,  brother  ! — all  hail !  " 

"  I  know  thee  not,"  answ^ered  the  star  :  "  thou  art  not  the 
archangel  that  visitest  the  kings  of  night." 

And  the  shape  laughed  loud.  "  I  am  the  fallen  star  of 
the  morning  ! — I  am  Lucifer,  thy  brother  !  Has  thou  not,  O 
sullen  king !  served  me  and  mine  ?  and  hast  thou  not  wrested 
the  earth  from  thy  Lord  who  sittest  abpve,  and  given  it  to 
me,  by  darkening  the  souls  of  men  with  the  religion  of  fear  ? 
Wherefore  come,  brother,  come  ; — thou  hast  a  throne  pre- 
pared beside  my  own  in  the  fiery  gloom — Come  !  The  heavens 
are  no  more  for  thee  ?  " 

Th|n  the  star  rose  from  his  throne,  and  descended  to  the 
side  of  Lucifer.  For  ever  hath  the  spirit  of  discontent  had 
sympathy  with  the  soul  of  pride.  And  they  sank  slowly 
down  to  the  gulf  of  gloom. 

It  was  the  first  .night  of  the  new  year,  and  the  stars  sat 
each  on  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched  with  sleepless  eyes 
upon  the  world.  But  sorrow  dimmed  the  bright  faces  of  the 
kings  of  night,  for  they  mourned  in  silence  and  in  fear  for  a 
fallen  brother. 

And  the  gates  of  the  heaven  of  heavens  flew  open  with  a 
golden  sound,  and  the  swift  archangel  fled  down  on  his  silent 
wings  ;  and  the  archangel  gave  to  each  of  the  stars  as  before 
the  message  of  his  Lord  ;  and  to  each  star  was  his  appointed 


142 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


charge.  And  when  the  heraldry  seemed  done,  there  came  a 
laugh  from  the  abyss  of  gloom,  and  half-way  from  the  gulf 
rose  the  lurid  shajDe  of  Lucifer  the  fiend  ! 

"  Thou  countest  thy  flock  ill,  O  radiant  shepherd  !  Be- 
hold !  one  star  is  missing  from  the  three  thousand  and  ten  !  " 

"  Back  to  thy  gulf,  false  Luqifer ! — the  throne  of  thy 
brother  hath  been  filled." 

And,  lo  !  as  the  archangel  spake,  the  stars  beheld  a  young 
and  all-lustrous  stranger  on  the  throne  of  the  erring  star  ;  and 
his  face  was  so  soft  to  look  upon,  that  the  dimmest  of  human 
eyes  might  have  gazed  upon  its  splendor  unabashed  :  but  the 
dark  fiend  alone  was  dazzled  by  its  lustre,  and,  with  a  yell 
that  shook  the  flaming  pillars  of  the  universe,  he  plunged 
backward  into  the  gloom. 

Then,  far  and  sweet  from  the  arch  unseen,  came  forth 
the  voice  of  God, — 

"  Behold  !  on  the  throne  of  the  discontented  star  sits  the 
star  of  Hope  ;  and  he  that  breathed  into  mankind  the  reli- 
gion of  Fear  hath  a  successor  in  him  who  shall  teach  earth 
the  religion  of  Love  !  " 

And  evermore  the  star  of  Fear  dwells  in  Lucifer  and  the 
star  of  Love  keeps  vigil  in  heaven  ! 


'    CHAPTER  XX. 

« 

Gelnhausen. — The  power  of  Love  in  sanctified  places. — A  portrait  ot 
Frederick  Barbarossa. — The  ambition  of  men  finds  no  adequate 
sympathy  in  women. 

"  You  made  me  tremble  for  you  more  than  once,"  said 
Gertrude  to  the  student ;  "  I  feared  you  were  about  to  touch 
upon  ground  really  sacred,  but  your  end  redeemed  all." 

"  The  false  religion  always  tries  to  counterfeit  the  garb, 
the  language,  the  aspect,  of  the  true,"  answered  the  German ; 
"  for  that  reason,  I  purposely  suffered  my  tale  to  occasion 
that  very  fear  and  anxiety  you  speak  of,  conscious  that  the 
most  scrupulous  would  be  contented  when  the  whole  was  fin- 
ished " 

This  German  was  one  of  a  new  school,  of  which  England 
as  yet  knows  nothing.  We  shall  see,  hereafter,  what  it  will 
produce. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


143 


The  student  left  them  at  Friedberg,  and  our  travellers  pro- 
ceeded to  Gelnhausen, — a  spot  interesting  to  lovers  ;  for  here 
Fr-derick  the  First  was  won  by  the  beauty  of  Gela,  and,  in 
\Xt:  midst  of  an  island  vale,  he  built  the  Imperial  Palace, 
in  honor  to  the  lady  of  his  love.  The  spot  is,  indeed,  well 
chosen  of  itself ;  the  mountains  of  the  Rhinegeburg  close  it 
with  the  green  gloom  of  woods,  and  the  glancing  waters  of 
the  Kinz. 

"  Still,  wherever  we  go,"  said  Trev}dyan,  "  we  nnd  all 
tradition  is  connected  with  love  ;  and  history,  for  that  reason, 
hallows  less  than  romance." 

"  It  is  singular,"  said  Vane,  moralizing,  "  that  love  makes 
but  a  small  part  of  our  actual  lives,  but  is  yet  the  master-key 
to  our  sympathies.  The  hardest  of  us,  who  laugh  at  the  pas- 
sion when  they  see  it  palpably  before  them,  are  arrested  by 
some  dim  tradition  of  its  existence  in  the  past.  It  is  as  if 
life  had  few  opportunities  of  bringing  out  certain  qualities 
within  us,  so  that  they  always  remain  untold  and  dormant, 
susceptible  to  thought,  but  deaf  to  action." 

"  You  refine  and  mystify  too  much,"  said  Trevylyan, 
smiling;  "none  of  us  have  any  faculty,  any  passion,  uncalled 
forth,  if  we  have  really  loved,  though  but  for  a  day." 

Gertrude  smiled,  and  drawing  her  arm  within  his,  Trevyl- 
yan left  Vane  to  philosophize  on  passion  ;  a  fit  occupation 
for  one  who  had  never  felt  it. 

"  Here  let  us  pause,"  said  Trevylyan,  afterwards,  as  they 
visited  the  remains  of  the  ancient  palace,  and  the  sun  glit- 
tered on  the  scene,  "  to  recall  the  old  chivalric  day  of  the 
gallant  Barbarossa  ; — let  us  suppose  him  commencing  the  last 
great  action  of  his  life  ;  let  us  picture  him  as  setting  out  for 
the  Holy  Land.  Imagine  him  issuing  from  those  walls  on 
h  5  white  charger  ;  his  fiery  eye  somewhat  dimmed  by  years, 
and  his  hair  blanched,  but  nobler  from  the  impress  of  time  it- 
self , — the  clang  of  arms  ;  the  tramp  of  steeds  ;  banners  on 
high;  music  pealing  from  hill  to  hill ;  the  red  cross  and  the 
nodding  plume  ;  the  sun,  as  now  glancing  on  yonder  trees  ; 
and  thence  reflected  from  the  burnished  arms  of  the  Crusa- 
ders ; — but,  Gela " 

"  Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  "  she  must  be  no  more  ;  for  she 
would  have  outlived  her  beauty,  and  have  found  that  glory 
had  now  no  rival  in  his  breast,  Glor\'  consoles  men  for 
the  death  of  the  loved  ;  but  glory  is  infidelity  to  the  living." 

"  Nay,  not  so,  dearest  Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan,  quickly  ; 
"  for  my  darling  dream  of  Fame  is  the  hope  of  laying  its  hon 


144  ^-^-^  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

nrs  at  your  feet !  And  if  ever,  in  future  years,  1  should  rise 
above  the  herd,  I  should  only  ask  xiyoiir  step  were  proud,  and 
your  heart  elated." 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Gertrude,  with  tears  in  her  eyes ; 
"  and,  for  your  sake,  I  can  be  ambitious." 

Perhaps  there,  too,  she  was  mistaken  ;  for  one  of  '■he 
common  disappointments  of  the  heart  is,  that  women  have 
so  rarely  a  sympathy  in  our  better  and  higher  aspirings. 
Their  ambition  is  not  for  great  things  ;  they  cannot  under- 
stand that  desire  •'  which  scorns  delight,  and  loves  laborious 
days."  If  they  love  us,  they  usually  exact  too  much.  They 
are  jealous  of  the  ambition  to  which  we  sacrifice  so  largely, 
and  which  divides  us  from  them  ;  and  they  leave  the  stern 
passion  of  great  minds  to  the  only  solitude  which  affection 
cannot  share.     To  aspire  is  to  be  alone  1 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


View  of    Ehrenbreitstein. — A    new    alarm    in    Gertrude's    Health.— 

Trarbach. 

Another  time  our  travellers  proceeded  from  Coblentz 
to  Treves,  following  the  course  of  the  Moselle.  They  stopped 
on  the  opposite  bank  below  the  bridge  that  unites  Coblentz 
with  the  Petersberg,  to  linger  over  the  superb  view  of  Ehren- 
breitstein which  you  may  there  behold. 

It  was  one  of  those  calm  noonday  scenes  which  impress 
upon  us  their  own  bright  and  voluptuous  tranquillity.  There 
stood  the  old  herdsman  leaning  on  his  staff,  and  the  quiet 
cattle  knee-deep  in  the  gliding  waters.  Never  did  stream 
more  smooth  and  sheen,  than  was  at  that  hour  the  surface  ot 
the  Moselle,  mirror  the  images  of  the  pastoral  life.  Beyond, 
the  darker  shadows  of  the  bridge  and  of  the  walls  of  Cob- 
lentz fell  deep  over  the  waves,  chequered  by  the  tall  sails  of 
the  craft  that  were  moored  around  the  harbor.  But  clear 
against  the  sun  rose  the  spires  and  roofs  of  Coblentz,  backed 
by  many  a  hill  sloping  away  to  the  horizon.  High,  dark,  and 
massive,  on  the  opposite  bnnk,  swelled  the  towers  and  rock 
of  Ehrenbreitstein  ;  a  type  of  that  great  chivalric  spirit — the 
HONOR  that  the  rock  arrogates  for  its  name, — which  demands 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


'45 


SO  many  sacrifices  of  blood  and  tears,  but  which  e\'^er  creates 
in  the  restless  heart  of  man  a  far  deeper  interest  than  the 
more  peaceful  scenes  of  life  by  which  it  is  contrasted.  There, 
still — from  the  calm  waters,  and  the  abodes  of  common  toil 
and  ordinary  pleasure — turns  the  aspiring  mind  !  Still  as  we 
gaze  on  that  lofty  and  immemorial  rock,  we  recall  the  famine 
and  the  siege  ,  and  own  that  the  more  daring  crimes  of  men 
have  a  strange  privilege  in  hallowing  the  very  spot  which 
they  devastate  ! 

Below,  in  green  curves  and  mimic  bays  covered  with 
herbage,  the  gradual  banks  mingled  with  the  water  ;  and  just 
where  the  bridge  closed,  a  solitary  group  of  trees,  standing 
dark  in  the  thickest  shadow,  gave  that  melancholy  feature  to 
the  scene  which  resembles  the  one  dark  thought  that  often 
forces  itself  into  our  sunniest  hours.  Their  bousfhs  stirred 
not ;  no  voice  of  birds  broke  the  stillness  of  their  gloomy 
verdure  ;  the  eye  turned  from  thcni,  as  from  the  sad  moral  that 
belongs  to  existence. 

In  proceeding  to  Trarbach,  Gertrude  was  seized  with  an- 
other of  those  fainting-fits  which  had  so  terrified  Trevylyn 
before  ;  they  stopped  an  hour  or  two  at  a  little  village,  but 
Gertrude  rallied  with  such  apparent  rapidity,  and  so  strongly 
insisted  on  proceeding,  that  they  reluctantly  continued  their 
way.  This  event  would  have  thrown  a  gloom  over  their  jour- 
ney, if  Gertrude  had  not  exerted  herself  to  dispel  the  impres- 
sion she  had  occasioned ;  and  so  light,  so  cheerful,  were  her 
spirits,  that  for  the  time  at  least  she  succeeded. 

They  arrived  at  Trarbach  late  at  noon.  This  now  small 
and  humble  town  is  said  to  have  been  the  Thronus  Bacchi  of 
the  ancients.  From  the  spot  where  the  travellers  halted  to 
take,  as  it  were,  their  impression  of  the  town,  they  saw  be- 
fore them  the  little  hostelry,  a  poor  pretender  to  the  Thronus 
Bacchi,  with  the  rude  sign  of  the  Holy  Mother  over  the 
door.  The  peaked  roof,  the  sunk  window,  the  gray  walls, 
chequered  with  the  rude  beams  of  wood  so  common  to  the 
meaner  houses  on  the  Continent,  bore  something  of  a  melan- 
choly and  unprepossessing  aspect.  Right  above,  with  its 
Gothic  windows  and  venerable  spire,  rose  the  church  of  the 
town ;  and,  crowning  the  summit  of  a  green  and  almost  per 
pendicular  mountain,  scowled  the  remains  of  one  of  those 
mighty  castles  which  makes  the  never-falling  frown  on  a  Ger- 
man landscape. 

The  scene  was  one  of  quiet  and  of  gloom  ;  the  exceeding 
serenity  of  the  day  contrasted,  with  an   almost  unpleasing 


« 


146  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

brightness,  the  poverty  of  the  town,  the  thinness  of  the  pop- 
ulation, and  the  dreary  grandeur  of  the  ruins  that  overhung 
the  capital  of  the  perished  race  of  the  bold  Counts  of  Span- 
heim. 

They  passed  the  night  at  Trarbach,  and  continued  their 
journey  next  day.  At  Treves,  Gertrude  was  for  some  days 
seriously  ill ;  and  when  they  returned  to  Coblentz,  her  dis- 
ease had  evidently  received  a  rapid  and  alarming  increase. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


The  Double  Life.— Trevylyan's  fate. — Sorrow  the  Parent  of  Fame. — 
Neiderlahnstein. — Dreams. 

There  are  two  lives  to  each  of  us,  gliding  on  at  the  same 
time,  scarcely  connected  with  each  other  ! — the  life  of  our 
actions,  the  life  of  our  minds  ;  the  external  and  the  inward 
history ;  the  movements  of  the  frame,  the  deep  and  ever- 
restless  workings  of  the  heart !  They  who  have  loved  know 
that  there  is  a  diary  of  the  affections,  which  we  might  keep 
for  years  without  having  occasion  even  to  touch  upon  the  ex- 
terior surface  of  life,  our  busy  occupations — the  mechanical 
progress  of  our  existence  ;  yc:  by  the  last  are  we  judged,  the 
first  is  never  known.  History  reveals  men's  deeds,  men's 
outward  characters,  but  not  themselves.  There  is  a  secret 
self  that  hath  its  own  life  "  rounded  by  a  dream,"  unpene- 
trated,  unguessed.  What  passed  within  Treyylyan,  hour 
after  hour,  as  he  watched  over  the  declining  health  of  the 
only  being  in  the  world  whom  his  proud  heart  had  been  ever 
destined  to  love  ?  His  real  record  of  the  time  was  marked 
by  ever^r  cloud  upon  Gertrude's  brow,  every  smile  of  her 
countenance,  every — the  faintest — alteration  in  her  disease  ; 
yet,  to  the  outward  seeming,  all  this  vast  current  of  varying 
eventful  emotion  lay  dark  and  unconjectured.  He  filled  up, 
with  wonted  regularity,  the  colorings  of  existence,  and  smiled 
and  moved  as  other  men.  For  still,  in  the  heroism  with 
which  devoiion  conquers  self,  he  sought  only  to  cheer  and 
gladden  the  young  heart  on  which  he  had  embarked  his  all ; 
and  he  kept  the  dark  tempest  of  his  anguish  for  the  solitude 
of  night. 

That  was  a  peculiar  doom  which  fate  had  reserved  foi 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


147 


him  ;  and  casting  him,  in  after  years,  on  the  great  sea  of 
public  strife,  it  seemed  as  i  she  were  resolved  to  tear  from 
his  heart  all  yearnings  for  the  land.  For  him  there  was  to  be 
no  green  or  sequestered  spot  in  the  valley  of  household 
peace.  His  bark  was  to  know  no  haven,  and  his  soul  not 
even  the  desire  of  rest.  For  action  is  that  Lethe  in  which 
alone  we  forget  our  former  dreams,  and  the  mind  that,  too 
stern  not  to  wrestle  with  its  emotions,  seeks  to  conquer  re- 
gret, must  leave  itself  no  leisure  to  look  behind.  Who  knows 
what  benefits  to  the  world  may  have  sprung  from  the  sorrows 
of  the  benefactor?  As  the  harvest  that  gladdens  mankind  in 
the  suns  of  autumn  was  called  forth  by  the  rains  of  spring,  so 
the  griefs  of  youth  may  make  the  fame  of  maturity. 

Gertrude,  charmed  by  the  beauties  of  the  river,  desired 
to  continue  the  voyage  to  Mayence.  The  rich  Trevylyan 
persuaded  the  physician  who  had  attended  her  to  accompany 
them,  and  they  once  more  pursued  their  way  along  the  banks 
of  the  feudal  Rhine  ;  for  what  the  Tiber  is  to  the  classic,  the 
Rhine  is  to  the  chivalric,  age.  The  steep  rock  and  the  gray 
dismantled  tower,  the  massive  and  rude  picturesque  of  the 
feudal  days,  constitute  the  great  features  of  the  scene  ;  and 
you  might  almost  fancy,  as  you  glide  along,  that  you  are  sail- 
ing back  adown  the  river  of  Time,  and  the  monuments  of  the 
pomp  and  power  of  old,  rising,  one  after  one,  upon  its 
shores ! 

Vane  and  Du e,  the  physician,  at  the  farther  end  of 

the  vessel,  conversed  upon  stones  and  strata,  in  that  singular 
pedantry  of  science  which  strips  nature  to  a  skeleton,  and 
prowls  among  the  dead  bones  of  the  world,  unconscious  of 
its  living  beauty. 

They  left  Gertrude  and  Trevylyan  to  themselves,  and. 
"bending  o'er  the  vessel's  laving  side,"  they  indulged  in  si- 
lence the  melancholy  with  which  each  was  imbued.  For 
Gertrude  began  to  waken,  though  doubtingly  and  at  inter- 
vals, to  a  sense  of  the  short  span  that  was  granted  to  her 
life  ;  and  over  the  loveliness  around  her,  there  floated  that 
sad  and  ineffable  interest  which  springs  from  the  present  !• 
ment  of  our  own  death.  They  passed  the  rich  island  of  Ober- 
werth,  and  Hochheim,  famous  for  its  ruby  grape,  and  saw, 
from  his  mountain  bed,  the  Lahn  bear  his  tribute  of  fruits 
and  corn  into  the  treasury  of  the  Rhine.  Proudly  rose  the 
tower  of  Niederlahnstein,  and  deeply  lay  its  shadow  along  the 
stream.  It  was  late  noon  ;  the  cattle  had  sought  the  shade 
from   the  slanting  sun,  and,  far  beyond,   the  holy  castle  of 


148  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Marksburg  raised  its  battlements  above  mountains  20vered 
with  the  vine.  On  the  water  two  boats  had  been  drawn 
alongside  each  other ;  and  from  one,  now  t.  oving  to  the 
land,  the  splash  of  oars  broke  the  general  stillness  of  the 
tide.  Fast  by  an  old  tower  the  fishermen  were  busied  in 
their  craft,  but  the  sound  of  their  voices  did  not  reach  the 
ear.  It  was  life,  but  a  silent  life  ;  suited  to  the  tranquillity  o^ 
noon. 

"  There  is  samething  in  travel,"  said  Gertrude,  "  which 
constantly,  even  amidst  the  most  retired  spots,  impresses  us 
with  the  exuberance  of  life.  We  come  to  those  quiet  nooks 
and  find  a  race  whose  existence  we  never  dreamed  of.  In 
their  humble  path  they  know  the  same  passions  and  tread  the 
same  career  as  ourselves.  The  mountains  shut  them  out 
from  the  great  world,  but  their  village  is  a  world  in  itself. 
And  they  know  and  heed  no  more  of  the  turbulent  scenes  of 
remote  cities,  than  our  own  planet  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
distant  stars.  What  then  is  death,  but  the  forgetfulness  of 
some  few  hearts  added  to  the  general  unconsciousness  of 
our  existence  that  pervades  the  universe  .''  The  bubble  breaks 
in  the  vast  desert  of  the  air,  without  a  sound." 

"Why  talk  of  death?"  said  Trev}'lyan,  with  a  writhing 
smile  ;  "  these  sunny  scenes  should  not  call  forth  such  melan- 
choly images." 

"  Melancholy,"  repeated  Gertrude,  mechanically.  "  Yes, 
death  is  indeed  melancholy  when  we  are  loved  !  " 

They  stayed  a  short  time  at  Niederlahnstein,  for  Vane  was 
anxious  to  examine  the  minerals  that  the  Lahn  brings  into 
the  Rhine  ;  and  the  sun  was  waning  towards  its  close  as  they 
renewed  their  voyage.  As  they  sailed  slowly  on,  Gertrude 
said,  "  How  like  a  dream  is  this  sentiment  of  existence,  when, 
without  labor  or  motion,  every  change  of  scene  is  brought 
before  us ;  and  if  I  am  with  you,  dearest,  I  do  not  feel  it  less 
lesembling  a  dream,  for  I  have  dreamed  of  you  i  ely  more 
than  ever.  And  dreams  have  become  a  part  of  my  life  it- 
self." 

"  Speaking  of  dreams,"  said  Trevylyan,  as  they  pursued 
that  mysterious  subject ;  "  I  once,  during  my  former  resi- 
dence in  Germany,  fell  in  with  a  singular  enthusiast,  who  had 
taught  himself  what  he  termed  '  A  System  of  Dreaming.' 
When  he  first  spoke  to  me  upon  it  I  asked  him  to  explain 
what  he  meant,  which  he  did  somewhat  in  the  following 
words. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  149 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Life  of  Dreams. 

"  *  I  WAS  born,'  said  he,  '  with  many  of  the  sentiments  of 
the  poet,  but  without  the  language  to  express  them  ;  my  feel- 
mgs  were  constantly  chilled  by  the  intercourse  of  the  actual 
world — my  family,  mere  Germans,  dull  and  unimpassioned — • 
had  nothing  in  common  with  me  ;  nor  did  I  out  of  my  family 
find  those  with  whom  I  could  better  sympathize.  I  was 
revolted  by  friendships — for  they  were  susceptible  to  every 
change  ;  I  was  disappointed  in  love — for  the  truth  never  ap- 
proached to  my  ideal.  Nursed  early  in  the  lap  of  Romance, 
enamoured  of  the  wild  and  the  adventurous,  the  common- 
places of  life  were  to  me  inexpressibly  tame  and  joyless. 
And  yet  indolence,  which  belongs  to  the  poetical  character, 
was  more  inviting  than  that  eager  and  uncontemplative  action 
which  can  alone  wring  enterprise  from  life.  Meditation  was 
my  natural  element.  I  loved  to  spend  the  noon  reclined  by 
some  shady  stream,  and  in  a  half  sleep  to  shape  images  from 
the  glancing  sunbeams  ;  a  dim  and  unreal  order  of  philosophy, 
that  belongs  to  our  nation,  was  my  favorite  intellectual  pur- 
suit. And  I  sought  amongst  the  Obscure  and  the  Recondite 
the  variety  and  emotion  I  could  not  find  in  the  Familiar.  Thus 
constantly  watching  the  operations  of  the  inner-mind,  it 
occurred  to  me  at  last,  that  sleep  having  its  own  world,  but 
as  yet  a  rude  and  fragmentary  one,  it  might  be  possible  to 
shape  from  its  chaos  all  those  combinations  of  beauty,  of  power, 
of  glory,  and  of  love,  which  were  denied  to  me  in  the  world 
in  which  my  frame  walked  and  had  its  being.  So  soon  as 
this  idea  cam.e  upon  me,  I  nursed  and  cherished,  and  mused 
over  it,  till  I  found  that  the  imagination  began  to  effect  the 
miracle  I  desired.  By  brooding  ardently,  intensely,  before  I 
retired  to  rest,  over  any  especial  train  of  thought,  over  any 
ideal  creations  ;  by  keeping  the  body  utterly  still  and  quies- 
cent during  the  whole  day  ;  by  shutting  out  all  living  adven- 
ture, the  memory  of  which  might  perplex  and  interfere  with 
the  stream  of  events  that  I  desired  to  pour  forth  into  the 
wilds  of  sleep,  I  discovered  at  last  that  I  could  lead  in  dreama 


I^O  •     THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

a  life  solely  their  own,  and  utterly  distinct  from  the  life  of 
day.  Towers  and  palaces,  all  my  heritage  and  seigneury, 
rose  before  me  from  the  depth  of  night ;  I  quaffed  from 
jewelled  cups  the  Falernian  of  imperial  vaults ;  music  from 
harps  of  celestial  tone  filled  up  the  crevices  of  air  ;  and  the 
smiles  of  immortal  beauty  flushed  like  sunlight  over  all. 
Thus  the  adventure  and  the  glory,  that  I  could  not  for  my 
waking  life  obtain,  was  obtained  for  me  in  sleep.  I  wandered 
with  the  gryphon  and  the  gnome  ;  I  sounded  the  horn  at  en- 
chanted portals  ;  I  conquered  in  the  knightly  lists  ;  I  planted 
my  standard  over  battlements  as  huge  as  the  painter's  Birth 
of  Babylon  itself. 

"  '  But  I  was  afraid  to  call  forth  one  shape  on  whose  love- 
liness to  pour  all  the  hidden  passion  of  my  soul.  I  trembled 
lest  my  sleep  should  present  me  some  image  which  it  could 
never  restore,  and,  waking  from  which,  even  the  new  world  I 
had  created  might  be  left  desolate  forever.  I  shuddered  lest 
I  should  adore  a  vision  which  the  first  ray  of  morning  could 
smite  to  the  grave. 

"  '  In  this  train  of  mind  I  began  to  ponder  whether  it 
might  not  be  possible  to  connect  dreams  together  :  to  supply 
the  thread  that  was  wanting  ;  to  make  one  night  continue  the 
history  of  the  other,  so  as  to  bring  together  the  same  shapes 
and  the  same  scenes,  and  thus  lead  a  connected  and  har- 
monious life,  not  only  in  the  one  half  of  existence,  but  in  the 
other,  the  richer  and  more  glorious  half.  No  sooner  did  this 
idea  present  itself  to  me,  than  I  burned  to  accomplish  it.  I 
had  before  taught  myself  that  Faith  is  the  great  creator ;  that 
to  believe  fervently  is  to  make  belief  true.  So  I  would  not 
suffer  my  mind  to  doubt  the  practicability  of  its  scheme.  I 
shut  myself  up  then  entirely  by  day,  refused  books,  and  hated 
the  very  sun,  and  compelled  all  my  thoughts  (and  sleep  is  the 
mirror  of  thought)  to  glide  in  one  direction,  the  direction  of 
my  dreams,  so  that  from  night  to  night  the  imagination  might 
keep  up  the  thread  of  action,  and  I  might  thus  lie  down  full 
of  the  last  dream  and  confident  of  the  sequel.  Not  for  one 
day  only,  or  for  one  month,  did  I  pursue  this  system,  but  I 
continued  it  zealously  and  sternly,  till  at  length  it  began  to 
succeed.  Who  shall  tell,'  cried  the  enthusiast, — I  see  him 
now  with  his  deep,  bright,  sunken  eyes,  and  his  wild  hair 
thrown  backward  from  his  brow,  'the  rapture  that  I  expe- 
rienced, when  first,  faintly  and  half  distinct,  I  perceived  the 
harmony  1  had  invoked  down  upon  my  dreams  ?  At  first 
there  was  only  a   partial  and  desultory  connection  between 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


151 


them  ;  my  eye  recognized  certain  shapes,  my  ear  certain  tones 
common  to  each  ;  by  degrees  these  augmerjcd  in  number, 
and  were  more  defined  in  outUne.  At  length  one  fair  face 
broke  forth  from  among  the  ruder  forms,  and  night  after  night 
appeared  mixing  with  them  for  a  moment  and  then  vanishing 
just  as  the  mariner  watches,  in  a  clouded  sky,  the  moon  shin- 
ing through  the  drifting  rack,  and  quickly  gone.  My  curi- 
osity was  now  vividly  excited  :  the  face,  with  its  lustrous  eyes 
and  seraph  features,  roused  all  the  emotions  that  no  living 
shape  had  called  forth.  I  became  enamoured  of  a  dream, 
and  as  the  statue  to  the  Cyprian  was  my  creation  to  me  ;  so 
from  this  intent  and  unceasing  passion,  I  at  length  worked  out 
my  reward.  My  dream  became  more  palpable  ;  I  spoke  with 
it ;  I  knelt  to  it ;  my  lips  were  pressed  to  its  own  ;  we  ex- 
changed the  vows  of  love,  and  morning  only  separated  us 
>with  the  certainty  that  at  night  we  should  meet  again.  Thus 
then,'  continued  my  visionary,  '  I  commenced  a  history  utterly 
separate  from  the  history  of  the  world,  and  it  went  on  alter- 
nately with  my  harsh  and  chilling  history  of  the  day,  equally 
regular  and  equally  continuous.  And  what,  you  ask,  was 
that  history  ?  Methought  I  was  a  prince  in  some  Eastern 
island,  that  had  no  features  in  common  with  the  colder  north 
of  my  native  home.  By  day  I  looked  upon  the  dull  walls  of 
a  German  town,  and  saw  homely  or  squalid  forms  passing 
before  me  ;  the  sky  was  dim  and  the  sun  cheerless.  Night 
came  on  with  her  thousand  stars,  and  brought  me  the  dews  of 
sleep.  Then  suddenly  there  was  a  new  world  ;  the  richest 
fruits  hung  from  the  trees  in  clusters  of  gold  and  purple. 
Palaces  of  the  quaint  fashion  of  the  sunnier  climes,  with 
spiral  minarets  and  glittering  cupolas,  were  mirrored  upon 
vast  lakes  sheltered  by  the  palm-tree  and  banana.  The  sun 
seemed  a  different  orb,  so  mellow  and  gorgeous  were  his 
beams  ;  birds  and  winged  things  of  all  hues  fluttered  .n  the 
shining  air;  the  faces  and  garments  of  men  were  not  of  the 
northern  regions  of  the  world,  and  their  voices  spoke  a 
tongue  which,  strange  at  first,  by  degrees  I  interpreted. 
Sometimes  I  made  war  upon  neighboring  kings  ;  sometimes  1 
chased  the  spotted  pard  through  the  vast  gloom  of  immeni- 
orial  forests  ;  my  life  was  at  once  a  life  of  enterprise  and 
pomp.  But,  above  all,  there  was  the  history  of  my  love  !  I 
thought  there  were  a  thousand  dithculties  in  the  way  of  at- 
taining its  possession.  Many  were  the  rocks  I  had  to  scale, 
and  the  battles  to  wage,  and  the  fortresses  to  storm,  in  order 
to  win  her  as  my  bride.     But  at   last,'  continued    the  enthusi 


152 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


ast,  '  she  is  won,  she  is  my  own  i  Time  in  that  wild  world, 
which  I  visit  nightly,  passes  not  so  slowly  as  in  this,  and  yet 
an  hour  may  be  the  same  as  a  year.  This  continuity  of  ex- 
istence, this  successive  series  of  dreams,  so  different  from  the 
broken  incoherence  of  other  men's  sleep,  at  times  bewilders 
me  with  strange  and  suspicious  thoughts.  What  if  this  glori- 
ous sleep  be  a  real  life,  and  this  dull  waking  the  true  repose  ? 
Why  not }  What  is  there  more  faithful  in  the  one  than  in  the 
other  ?  And  there  have  I  garnered  and  collected  all  of  pleas- 
ure that  I  am  capable  of  feeling.  I  seek  no  joy  in  this  world 
— I  form  no  ties,  I  feast  not,  nor  love,  nor  make  merrv' — I 
am  only  impatient  till  the  hour  when  I  may  re-enter  my  royal 
realms  and  pour  my  renewed  delight  into  the  bosom  of  my 
bright  Ideal.  There  then  have  I  found  all  that  the  world 
denied  me  ;  there  have  I  realized  the  yearning  and  the  aspi- 
ration within  me  ;  there  have  I  coined  the  untold  poetry  into 
the  Felt— the  Seen  ! ' 

"  I  found,"  continued  Trevvlvan,  "  that  this  tale  was 
corroborated  by  inquiry  into  the  visionary's  habits.  He 
shunned  society  ;  avoided  all  unnecessary  movement  oi 
excitement.  He  fared  with  rigid  abstemiousness  and  only 
appeared  to  feel  pleasure  as  the  day  departed,  and  the  hour 
of  return  to  his  imaginar}'  kingdom  approached.  He  always 
retired  to  rest  punctually  at  a  certain  hour,  and  would  sleep 
so  soundly,  that  a  cannon  fired  under  his  window  would  not 
arouse  him.  He  never,  which  may  seem  singular,  spoke  or 
moved  much  in  his  sleep,  but  was  peculiarly  calm,  almost 
to  the  appearance  of  lifelessness  ;  but,  discovering  once  that 
he  had  been  watched  in  sleep,  he  was  wont  afterwards 
carefully  to  secure  the  chamber  from  intrusion.  His  victor}- 
over  the  natural  incoherence  of  sleep  had,  when  I  first  knev 
him,  lasted  for  some  years ;  possibly,  what  imagination  first 
produced  was  afterwards  continued  by  habit. 

"  I  saw  him  again  a  few  months  subsequent  to  this  con- 
fession, and  he  seemed  to  me  much  changed.  He  health 
was  broken,  and  his  abstraction  had  deepened  into  gloom. 

"  I  questioned  him  of  the  cause  of  the  alteration,  and  he 
answered  me  with  great  reluctance, — 

"  '  She  is  dead,"  said  he,  '  my  realms  are  desolate  1  A 
serpent  stung  her,  and  she  died  in  these  very  arms.  Vainly, 
when  I  started  from  my  sleep  in  horror  and  despair,  vainly 
did  I  say  to  myself, — This  is  but  a  dream.  I  shall  see  her 
again.  A  vision  cannot  die  !  Hath  it  tiesh  that  decays  ?  is 
it  not  a  spirit — bodiless — indissoluble  .''     With  what   terrible 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


153 


anxiety  I  awaited  the  night  !  Again  I  slept,  and  the  dream 
lay  again  before  me — dead  and  withered.  Even  the  ideal 
can  vanish.  I  assisted  in  the  burial  ;  I  laid  her  in  the  earth  ; 
I  heaped  the  monumental  mockery  over  her  form.  And 
never  since  hath  she,  or  aught  like  her,  revisitea  my  dreams, 
I  see  her  only  when  I  wake  ;  thus  to  wake  is  indeed  to 
dream  !  But,"  continued  the  visionary,  in  a  solerm  voice, 
"  I  feel  myself  departing  from  this  world,  and  with  a  fearful 
joy ;  for  I  think  there  may  be  a  land  beyond  even  the  land 
of  sleep,  where  I  shall  see  her  again — a  land  in  which  a  vision 
itself  may  be  restored.' 

'*  And  in  truth,"  concluded  Trevylyan,  "  the  Dreamer  died 
shortly  afterwards,  suddenly,  and  in  his  sleep.  And  never 
before,  perhaps  had  Fate  so  literally  made  of  a  living  man 
(with  his  passions  and  his  powers,  his  ambition  and  his  love) 
the  plaything  and  puppet  of  a  dream." 

"  Ah,"  said  Vane,  who  had  heard  the  latter  part  of  Trevyl- 
yan's  story  ;  "  could  the  German  have  bequeathed  to  us  his 
secret,  what  a  refuge  should  we  possess  from  the  ills  of  earth  ! 
The  dungeon  and  disease,  poverty,  affliction,  shame,  would 
cease  to  be  the  tyrants  of  our  lot ;  and  to  Sleep  we  should 
confine  our  history  and  transfer  our  emotions." 

"  Gertrude,"  whispered  the  lover,  "  what  his  kingdom  and 
his  bride  were  to  the  Dreamer,  art  thou  to  me  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Brothers. 


The  banks  of  the  Rhine  now  shelved  away  into  sweeping 
plains,  and  on  their  right  rose  the  once  imperial  city  of  Bop- 
part.  In  no  journey  of  similar  length  do  you  meet  with  such 
striking  instances  of  the  mutability  and  shifts  of  power.  To 
find,  as  in  the  Memphian  Egypt,  a  city  sunk  into  a  heap  of 
desolate  ruins ;  the  hum,  the  roar,  the  mart  of  nations, 
hushed  into  the  silence  of  ancestral  tombs,  is  less  humbling 
to  our  human  vanity  than  to  mark,  as  long  as  the  Rhine,  the 
kingly  city  dwindled  into  the  humble  town  or  the  dreary 
village  ;  decay  without  its  grandeur,  change  without  the  awe 
of  its  solitude    !     On  the   site  on  which    Drusus  raised   his 


154 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


Roman  tower,  and  the  kings  of  the  Franks  their  palaces, 
trade  now  dribbles  in  tobacco-pipes,  and  transforms  into  an 
excellent  cotton  factory  the  antique  nunnery  of  Koningsberg  ! 
So  be  it ;  it  is  the  progressive  order  of  things — the  world 
itself  will  soon  be  one  excellent  cotton  factory. 

"  Look  !  "  said  Trevylyan,  as  they  sailed  on,  "  at  yonder 
mountain,  with  its  two  traditionary  Castles  of  Liebenstein 
and  Sternfels." 

Massive  and  huge  the  ruins  swelled  above  the  green  rock, 
at  the  foot  of  which  lay,  in  happier  security  from  time  and 
change,  the  clustered  cottages  of  the  peasant,  with  a  single 
spire  rising  above  the  quiet  village. 

"  Is  there  not,  Albert,  a  celebrated   legend   attached   to 
those   castles?"  said  Gertrude.     "I   think   I   remember  to 
have  heard  their  names  in  connection  with  your  profession  ■ 
of  tale-teller." 

"  Yes,"  said  Trevylyan  ;  "  the  story  relates  to  the  last 
lords  of  those  shattered  towers,  and " 

"  You  will  sit  here,  nearer  to  me,  and  begin,"  interrupted 
Gertrude,  in  her  tone  of  child-like  command — "  Come." 

The  Brothers :  a  Tale* 

You  must  imagine,  then,  dear  Gertrude  (said  Trevylyan), 
a  beautiful  summer  day,  and  by  the  same  faculty  that  none 
possess  so  richly  as  yourself,  for  it  is  you  who  can  kindle 
something  of  that  divine  spark  even  in  me,  you  must  rebuild 
those  shattered  towers  in  the  pomp  of  old  ;  raise  the  gallery 
and  the  hall ;  man  the  battlement  with  warders,  and  give  the 
proud  banners  of  ancestral  chivalry  to  wave  upon  the  v.alls. 
But  above,  sloping  half  down  the  rock,  you  must  fancy  the 
hanging  gardens  of  Leibenstein,  fragrant  with  flowers,  and 
basking  in  the  noonday  sun. 

On  the  greenest  turf,  underneath  an  oak,  there  sat  three 
persons,  in  the  bloom  of  youth.  Two  of  the  three  were 
brothers  ;  the  third  was  an  orphan  girl,  whom  the  lord  of  the 
opposite  tower  of  Sternfels  had  bequeathed  to  the  protection 
of  his  brother,  the  chief  of  Liebenstein.  The  castle  itself  and 
the  demesne  that  belonged  to  it  passed  away  from  the  female 
line,  and  became  the  heritage  of  Otho,  the  orphan's  cousin, 
and  the  younger  of  the  two  brothers  now  seated  on  the 
turf. 

♦This  tale  is,  in  reality,  founded  on  the  beautiful  tradition  which 
lielongs  to  Liebenstein  and  Sternfels. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


155 


"  And  oh,"  said  the  elder,  whose  name  was  Warbeck,  "you 
have  twined  a  chaplet  for  my  brother  ;  have  you  not,  dearest 
Leoline,  a  simple  tiower  for  me  ?  " 

The  beautiful  orphan — (for  beautiful  she  was,  Gertrude,  as 
the  heroine  of  the  tale  you  bid  me  tell  ought  to  be, — should 
she  not  have  to  the  dreams  of  my  fancy  your  lustrous  hair, 
and  your  sweet  smile,  and  your  eyes  of  blue,  that  are  never, 
never  silent  ?  Ah,  pardon  me,  that  in  a  former  tale,  I  denied 
the  heroine  the  beauty  of  your  face,  and  remember  that  to 
atone  for  it,  I  endowed  her  with  the  beauty  of  your  mind) — 
the  beautiful  orphan  blushed  to  her  temples,  and  culling  from 
the  flowers  in  her  lap  the  freshest  of  the  roses,  began  weaving 
them  into  a  wreath  for  Warbeck. 

"  It  would  be  better,"  said  the  gay  Otho,  "  to  make  my 
sober  brother  a  chaplet  of  the  rue  and  cypress  ;  the  rose  is 
much  too  bright  a  flower  for  so  serious  a  knight." 

Leoline  held  up  her  hand  reprovingly, 

"  Let  him   laugh,  dearest  cousin,"  said  Warbeck,  gazing 
passionately  on  her  changing  cheek  :  "  and  thou,  Leoline,  be- 
-lieve  that  the  silent  stream  runs  the  deepest./ 

At  this  moment,  they  heard  the  voice  of  the  old  chief, 
their  father,  calling  aloud  for  Leoline  ;  for,  ever  when  he  re- 
turned from  the  chase,  he  v/anted  her  gentle  presence  ;  and 
the  hall  was  solitary  to  him  if  the  light  sound  of  her  step,  and 
the  music  of  her  voice,  were  not  heard  in  welcome. 

Leoline  hastened  to  her  guardian  and  the  brothers  were 
left  alone. 

Nothing  could  be  more  dissimilar  than  the  features  and 
the  respective  characters  of  Otho  and  Warbeck.  Otho's 
countenance  was  flushed  with  the  brow^n  hues  of  health  ;  his 
eyes  were  of  the  brightest  hazel  ;  his  dark  hair  wreathed  in 
short  curls  round  his  open  and  fearless  brow  ;  the  jest  ever 
echoed  on  his  lips,  and  his  step  was  bounding  as  the  foot  of 
the  hunter  of  the  Alps.  Bold  and  light  was  his  spirit  ;  if  at 
times  he  betrayed  the  haughty  insolence  of  youth,  he  felt 
generously,  and  though  not  ever  ready  to  confess  sorrow  for 
a  fault,  he  was  at  least  ready  to  brave  peril  for  a  friend. 

But  Warbeck's  frame^  though  of  equal  strength,  wms  more 
slender  in  its  propct'ons  than  that  of  his  brother;  the  fair 
long  hair,  that  cha'"acterized  his  northern  race,  hung  on  either 
side  of  a  countenance  calm  and  pale,  and  deeply 'impressed 
with  thoun^ht,  even  to  sadness.  His  features,  more  majestic 
and  regular  than  Otho's  rarelv  varied   in   their  expression. 


156  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

More  resolute  even  than  Otho,  he  was  less  impetuous  ;  more 
impassioned,  he  was  also  less  capricious. 

The  brothers  remained  silent  after  Leoline  had  left  them. 
Otho  carelessly  braced  on  his  sword,  that  he  had  laid  aside 
on  the  grass  ;  but  VVarbeck  gathered  up  the  flowers  that  had 
been  touched  by  the  soft  hand  of  Leoline,  and  placed  them 
in  his  bosom. 

The  action  disturbed  Otho  ;  he  bit  his  lip,  and  changed 
color  ;  at  length  he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh, — 

"  It  must  be  confessed,  brother,  that  you  carry  your  affec- 
tion for  our  fair  cousin  to  a  degree  that  even  relationship 
seems  scarcely  to  warrant." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Warbeck,  calmly  :  "  I  love  her  with  a 
love  surpassing  that  of  blood." 

"  How,"  said  Otho,  fiercely  :  "  do  you  dare  to  think  of 
Leoline  as  a  bride  ?" 

"  Dare  I "  repeated  Warbeck,  turning  yet  paler  than  his 
wonted  hue. 

"  Yes,  I  have  said  the  word  !  Know,  Warbeck,  that 
I,  too,  love  Leoline  ;  I,  too,  claim  her  as  my  bride  ;  and  never 
while  I  can  wield  a  sword, — never,  while  I  wear  the  spurs  of 
knighthood,  will  I  render  my  claim  to  a  living  rival.  Even," 
he  added  (sinking  his  voice),  "though  that  rival  be  my  brother!" 

Warbeck  answered  not ;  his  very  soul  seemed  stunned  ; 
he  gazed  long  and  wistfully  on  his  brother,  and  then,  turning 
his  face  away,  ascended  the  rock  without  uttering  a  single 
word. 

This  silence  startled  Otho.  Accustomed  to  vent  every 
emotion  of  his  own,  he  could  not  comprehend  the  forbearance 
of  his  brother;  he  knew  his  high  and  brave  nature  too  well  to 
imagine  that  it  arose  from  fear.  Might  it  not  be  contempt, 
or  might  he  not,  at  this  moment,  intend  to  seek  their  father ; 
and,  the  first  to  proclaim  his  love  for  the  orphan,  advance, 
also,  the  privilege  of  the  elder-born  ?  As  these  suspicions 
flashed  across  him,  the  haughty  Otho  strode  to  his  brother's 
side,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  said, — 

"  Whither  goest  thou  ?  and  dost  thou  consent  to  surrender 
Leoline  ?  " 

"  Does  she  love  thee,  Otho  ? "  answered  Warbeck,  break- 
ing the  silence  at  last ;  and  his  voice  spoke  so  deep  an  an- 
guish, that  it  arrested  the  passions  of  Otho,  even  at  their 
height. 

"  It  is  thou  who  art  now  silent,"  continued  Warbeck  ; 
"  speak  ;  doth  she  love  thee,  and  has  her  lip  confessed  it  ?  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


157 


"  I  have  believed  that  she  loved  me,"  faltered  Otho ; 
"but  she  is  of  maiden  bearing,  and  her  lip,  at  least,  has 
never  told  it." 

"  Enough,"  said  Warbeck,  "  release  your  hold." 

"Stay,"  said  Otho,  his  suspicions  returning;  "stay — yet 
one  word  ;  dost  thou  seek  my  father .''  He  ever  honored  thee 
more  than  me  :  wilt  thou  own  to  him  thy  love,  and  insist  on 
thy  right  of  birth  ?  By  my  soul  and  my  hope  of  heaven,  do 
it,  and  one  of  us  two  must  fall  !  " 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  answered  Warbeck,  bitterly  ;  "  how  little 
thou  canst  read  the  heart  of  one  who  loves  truly !  Thinkest 
thou  I  would  wed  her  if  she  loved  thee  ?  Thinkest  thou  I 
could,  even  to  be  blessed  myself,  give  her  one  moment's 
pain  ?     Out  on  the  thought — away  !  " 

"  Then  wilt  not  thou  seek  our  father  ?  "  said  Otho  abashed. 

"  Our  father  ! — has  our  father  the  keeping  of  Leoline's 
affection  .''  "  answered  Warbeck  ;  and  shaking  off  his  brother's 
grasp,  he  sought  the  way  to  the  castle. 

As  he  entered  the  hall,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Leoline  ; 
she  was  singing  to  the  old  chief  one  of  the  simple  ballads  of 
the  time,  that  the  warrior  and  the  hunter  loved  to  hear. 
He  paused  lest  he  should  break  the  spell  (a  spell  stronger 
than  a  sorcerer's  to  him),  and  gazing  upon  Leoline's  beautiful 
form,  his  heart  sank  within  him.  His  brother  and  himself 
had  each  that  day,  as  they  sat  in  the  gardens,  given  her  a 
flower  ;  his  flov/er  was  the  fresher  and  the  rarer  ;  his  he  saw 
not,  but  she  wore  his  brother's  in  her  bosom  ! 

The  chief,  lulled  by  the  music  and  wearied  with  the  toils 
of  the  chase,  sank  into  sleep  as  the  song  ended,  and  Warbeck, 
coming  forward,  motioned  to  Leoline  to  follow  him.  He 
passed  into  a  retired  and  solitary  walk  and  when  they  were 
a  little  distance  from  the  castle,  Warbeck  turned  round,  and 
taking  Leoline's  hand  gently,  said, — 

"  Let  us  rest  here  for  one  moment,  dearest  cousin  ;  I 
have  much  on  my  heart  to  say  to  thee." 

"  And  what  is  there,"  answered  Leoline,  as  they  sat  on 
a  mossy  bank,  with  the  broad  Rliine  glancing  below,  "what 
is  there  that  my  kind  Warbeck  would  ask  of  me?  Ah  ! 
wculd  it  might  be  some  favor,  something  in  poor  Leoline's 
power  to  grant  ?  for  ever  from  my  birth  you  have  been  to 
me  most  tender,  most  kind.  You  ,  I  have  often  heard  them 
say,  taught  my  first  steps  to  walk  ;  you  formed  my  infant 
lips  into  language,  and,  in  after  years,  when  my  wild  cousin 
was  far  away  in  the  forest  at  the  chase,  you  would  hrave  hi.s 


158  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

gay  jest  and  remain  at  home,  lest  Leoline  should  be  wean 
in  the  solitude.     Ah,  would  I  could  repay  you  !  " 

Warbeck  turned  away  his  cheek  ;  his  heart  was  very  full, 
and  it  was  some  moments,  before  he  summoned  courage  to 
reply. 

"  My  fair  cousin,"  said  he,  "  those  were  happy  days  ; 
but  they  were  the  days  of  childhood.  New  cares  and  new 
thoughts  have  now  come  on  us.  But  I  am  still  thy  friend, 
Leoline,  and  still  thou  wilt  confide  in  me  thy  young  sorrows 
and  thy  young  hopes,  as  thou  ever  didst.  Wilt  thou  not, 
Leoline  ? " 

"  Canst  thou  ask  me  .'' "  said  Leoline  ;  and  Warbeck, 
gazing  on  her  face,  saw  that  though  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  they  yet  looked  steadily  upon  his ;  and  he  knew  that 
she  loved  him  only  as  a  sister. 

He  sighed,  and  paused  again  ere  he  resumed  :  "  Enough," 
said  he,  "  now  to  my  task.  Once  on  a  time,  dear  cousin, 
there  lived  among  these  mountains  a  certain  chief  who  had 
two  sons,  and  an  orphan  like  thyself  dwelt  also  in  his  halls. 
And  the  elder  son — but  no  matter,  let  us  not  waste  words  on 
hwi  ! — the  younger  son,  then,  loved  the  orphan  dearly — more 
dearly  than  cousins  love  ;  and,  fearful  of  refusal,  he  prayed 
the  elder  one  to  urge  his  suit  to  the  orphan.  Leoline, 
my  tale  is  done.  Canst  thou  not  love  Otho  as  he  loves 
thee?" 

And  now  lifting  his  eyes  to  Leoline,  he  saw  that 
she  trembled  violently,  and  her  cheek  was  covered  with 
blushes. 

"  Say,"  continued  he,  mastering  himself ;  "  is  not  that 
flower  (his  present)  a  token  that  he  is  chiefly  in  thy 
thoughts  .?  " 

''  Ah,  Warbeck !  do  not  deem  me  ungrateful  that  I  wear 
not  yours  also  :  but " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Warbeck,  hastily  ;  "  I  am  but  as  thy 
brother — is  not  Otho  more  ?  He  is  young,  brave,  and  beau- 
tiful. God  grant  that  he  may  deserve  thee,  if  thou  givcst 
him  so  rich  a  gift  as  thy  aiTections." 

"  I  saw  less  of  Otho  in  my  childhood,"  said  Leoline, 
evasively ;  "  therefore,  his  kindness  of  late  years  seemed 
stranger  to  me  than  thine." 

"  And  thou  wilt  not  then  reject  him  ?  Thou  wilt  be  his 
bride  ?  " 

"  And  thy  sister."  answered  Leoline. 

"Bless  thee,  my   own  dear  cousin!  one   brother's  kiss 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIATE.  159 

then,    and    farewell  !      Otho    shall    thank    thee    for    him- 
self." 

He  kissed  her  forehead  calmly,  and,  turning  away, 
plunged  into  the  thicket ;  then,  nor  till  then,  he  gave  vent  to 
such  emotions,  as,  had  Leoline  seen  them,  Otho's  suit  had 
been  lost  for  ever  ;  for  passionately,  deeply  as  in  her  fond 
and  innocent  heart  she  loved  Otho,  the  happiness  of  Warbeck 
was  not  less  dear  to  her. 

When  the  young  knight  had  recovered  his  self-posses.sion, 
he  went  in  search  of  Otho.  He  found  him  alone  in  the  wood, 
leaning  with  folded  arms  against  a  tree,  and  gazing  moodily 
on  the  ground.  Warbeck's  noble  heart  was  touched  at  his 
brother's  dejection. 

"  Cheer  thee,  Otho,"  said  he  ;  "I  bring  thee  no  bad  tid- 
ings ;  I  have  seen  Leoline — I  have  conversed  with  her — nay, 
start  not — she  loves  thee  !  she  is  thine  ! " 

"  Generous — generous  Warbeck !  "  exclaimed  Otho  ;  and 
he  threw  himself  on  his  brother's  neck.  "  No,  no,"  said  he, 
"  this  must  not  be  ;  thou  hast  the  elder  claim — I  resign 
her  to  thee.  Forgive  me  my  waywardness,  brother,  forgive 
me  !  " 

"  Think  of  the  past  no  more,"  said  Warbeck  ;  "  the  love 
of  Leoline  is  excuse  for  greater  offences  than  thine  :  and  now, 
be  kind  to  her ;  her  nature  is  soft  and  keen.  /  know  her 
well ;  for  I  have  studied  her  faintest  wish.  Thou  art  hasty 
and  quick  of  ire  ;  but  remember,  that  a  word  wounds  where 
love  is  deep.  For  my  sake,  as  for  hers,  think  more  of  her 
happiness  than  thine  own ;  now  seek  her — she  waits  to  hear 
from  thy  lips  the  tale  that  sounded  cold  upon  mine." 

With  that  he  left  his  brother,  and,  once  more  re-entering 
the  castle,  he  went  into  the  hall  of  his  ancestors.  His  father 
still  slept ;  he  put  his  hand  on  his  gray  hair,  and  blessed 
him  ;  then  stealing  up  to  his  chamber,  he  braced  on  his  helm 
and  armor,  and  thrice  kissing  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  said  with 
a  flushed  cheek, — 

"  Henceforth  be  i/wu  my  bride  !  '•  Then  passing  from 
the  castle,  he  sped  by  the  most  solitary  paths  down  the  rock, 
gained  the  Rhine,  and  hailing  one  of  the  numerous  fishermen 
of  the  river,  won  the  opposite  shore  ;  and  alone,  but  not  sad, 
for  his  high  heart  supported  him,  and  Leoline  at  least  was 
happy,  he  hastened  to  Frankfort. 

The  town  was  all  gayety  and  life,  arms  clanged  at  every 
corner,  the  sounds  of  martial  music,  the  wave  of  banners,  the 
glittering  of  plumed  casques,  the   neighing  of  war-steeds,  al) 


l6o  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

united  to  stir  the  blood  and  inflame  the  sense.  St.  Bertrand 
had  lifted  the  sacred  cross  along  the  shores  of  the  Rhine,  and 
the  streets  of  Frankfort  witnessed  with  what  success  ! 

On  that  same  day  Warbeck  assumed  the  sacred  badge,  and 
was  enlisted  among  the  knights  of  the  Emperor  Conrad. 

We  must  suppose  some  time  to  have  elapsed,  and  Otho 
and  Leoline  were  not  yet  wedded  ;  for,  in  the  first  fervor  of 
his  gratitude  to  his  brother,  Otho  had  proclaimed  tohisfathei 
and  to  Leoline  the  conquest  Warbeck  had  obtained  over  him- 
self ;  and  Leoiine,  touched  to  the  heart,  would  not  consent 
that  the  wedding  should  take  place  immediately.  "  Let  him, 
at  least,"  said  she,  "  not  be  insulted  by  a  premature  festiv- 
ity ;  and  give  him  time,  amongst  the  lofty  beauties  he  will 
gaze  upon  in  a  far  country,  to  forget,  Otho,  that  he  once 
loved  her  who  is  the  beloved  of  thee." 

The  old  chief  applauded  this  delicacy  ;  and  even  Otho,  in 
the  first  flush  of  his  feelings  towards  his  brother,  did  not  ven- 
ture to  oppose  it.  They  settled,  then,  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  at  the  end  of  a  year. 

Months  rolled  away,  and  an  absent  and  moody  gloom  set- 
tled upon  Otho's  brow.  In  his  excursion  with  his  gay  com- 
panions among  the  neighboring  towns,  he  heard  of  nothing 
but  the  glory  of  the  Crusaders,  of  the  homage  paid  to  the 
heroes  of  the  Cross  at  the  courts  they  visited,  of  the  adven- 
tures of  their  life,  and  the  exciting  spirit  that  animated  their 
war.  In  fact,  neither  minstrel  nor  priest  suffered  the  theme 
to  grow  cold ;  and  the  fame  of  those  who  had  gone  forth  to 
the  holy  strife,  gave  at  once  emulation  and  discontent  to  the 
youths  who  remained  behind, 

"  And  my  brother  enjoys  this  ardent  and  glorious  life." 
said  the  impatient  Otho  ;  "  while  I,  whose  arm  is  as  strong, 
and  whose  heart  is  as  bold,  languish  here  listening  to  the  dull 
tales  of  a  hoary  sire  and  the  silly  songs  of  an  orphan  girl,'' 
His  heart  smote  him  at  the  last  sentence,  but  he  had  already 
begun  to  weary  of  the  gentle  love  of  Leoline.  Perhaps  when 
he  had  no  longer  to  gain  a  triumph  over  a  rival,  the  excite- 
ment palled  :  or  perhaps  his  proud  spirit  secretly  chafed  at 
being  conquered  by  his  brother  in  generosity,  even  when  out- 
shining him  in  the  success  of  love. 

But  poor  Leoline,  once  taught  that  she  was  to  consider 

Otho  her   betrothed,  surrendered  her  heart  entirely  to  his 

control.     His  wild   spirit,  his   dark  beauty,  his  daring  valor, 

won  while  they  awed  her  ;  and  in  the  fitfulness  of  his  nature 

''e  those  perpetual  springs  of  hope   and  fear,  that  are  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  i6i 

fountains  of  ever-agitated  love.  She  saw  with  Increasing 
grief  the  change  that  was  growing  over  Otho's  mind  ;  nor 
did  she  divine  tlie  cause.  "  Surely  I  have  not  offended  him." 
thought  she. 

Among  the  companions  of  Otho  was  one  who  possessed 
a  singular  sway  over  him.  He  was  a  knight  of  that  mys- 
terious order  of  the  Temple,  which  exercised  at  one  time  so 
great  a  command  over  the  minds  of  men. 

A  severe  and  dangerous  wound  in  a  brawl  with  an  Eng- 
lish knight  had  confined  the  Templar  at  Frankfort,  and  pre- 
vented his  joining  the  Crusade.  During  his  slow  recovery 
he  had  formed  an  intimacy  with  Otho,  and  taking  up  his  resi- 
dence at  the  castle  of  Liebenstein,  had  been  struck  with  the 
beauty  of  Leoline.  Prevented  by  his  oath  from  marriage,  he 
allowed  himself  a  double  license  in  love,  and  doubted  not, 
could  he  disengage  the  young  knight  from  his  betrothed,  that 
she  would  add  a  new  conquest  to  the  many  he  had  already 
achieved.  Artfully  therefore  he  painted  to  Otho  the  various 
attractions  of  the  Holy  Cause  ;  and,  above  all,  he  failed  not 
to  describe,  with  glowing  colors,  the  beauties  who,  in  the  gor- 
geous East,  distinguished  with  a  prodigal  favor  the  warriors 
of  the  Cross.  Dowries,  unknown  in  the  more  sterile  moun- 
tains of  the  Rhine,  accompanied  the  hand  of  these  beauteous 
maidens  ;  and  even  a  prince's  daughter  was  not  deemed,  he 
said,  too  lofty  a  marriage  for  the  heroes  who  might  win  king- 
doms for  themselves. 

"To  me,  "  said  the  Templar,  ''  such  hopes  are  eternally 
denied.  But  you,  were  you  not  already  betrothed,  what  for- 
tunes might  await  you  !  " 

By  such  discourses  the  ambition  of  Otho  was  perpetually 
aroused  ;  they  served  to  deepen  his  discontent  at  his  present 
obscurity,  and  to  convert  to  distaste  the  only  solace  it  afforded 
in  the  innocence  and  affection  of  Leoline. 

One  night,  a  minstrel  sought  shelter  from  the  storm  in  the 
halls  of  Liebenstein.  His  visit  was  welcomed  by  the  chief, 
and  he  repaid  the  hospitality  he  had  received  by  the  exercise 
of  his  art.  He  sang  of  the  chase,  and  the  gaunt  hound  started 
from  the  hearth.  He  sang  of  love,  and  Otho  forgetting  his 
restless  dreams,  approached  to  Leoline,  and  laid  himself  at 
her  feet.  Louder  then  and  louder  rose  the  strain.  The  min- 
strel sang  of  war  ;  he  painted  the  feats  of  the  Crusaders  ;  he 
plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  battle  ;  the  steed  neighed  ; 
the  trump  sounded  ;  and  you  might  have  heard  the  ringing  of 
the  steel.     But  when  he  came  to  signalize  the  name   of  the 


1 62  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

boldest  knights,  high  amongst  the  loftiest  sounded  the  name 
of  Sir  Warbeck  of  Liebenstein.  Thrice  had  he  saved  the  im- 
perial banner  ;  two  chargers  slain  beneath  him,  he  had  covered 
their  bodies  with  the  fiercest  of  the  foe.  Gentle  in  the  tent 
and  terrible  in  the  fray,  the  minstrel  should  forget  his  craft 
ere  the  Rhine  should  forget  its  hero.  The  chief  started  from 
his  seat.     Leoline  clasped  the  minstrel's  hand. 

''  .Speak, — you  have  seen  him — he  lives — he  is  honored  ?  " 

"I  myself  am  but  just  from  Palestine,  brave  chief  and 
ncble  maiden.  I  saw  the  gallant  knight  of  I^iebenstein 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  imperial  Conrad,  And  he,  lady, 
was  the  only  knight  whom  admiration  shone  upon  without 
envy,  its  shadow. — Who  then,"  continued  the  minstrel,  once 
more  striking  his  harp,  "  who  then  would  remain  inglorious 
in  the  hall  .''  Shall  not  the  banners  of  his  sires  reproach  him 
as  they  wave  ?  and  shall  not  every  voice  from  Palestine 
strike  shame  into  his  soul .-'  " 

"  Right,"'  cried  Otho,  suddenly,  and  flinging  himself  at 
the  feet  of  his  father.  "  Thou  hearest  what  my  brother  has 
done,  and  thine  aged  eyes  weep  tears  of  joy.  Shall  /only 
dishonor  thine  old  age  with  a  rusted  sword  1  No  !  grant  me, 
like  my  brother,  to  go  forth  with  the  heroes  of  the  Cross." 

"  Noble  youth,"  cried  the  harper,  "  therein  speaks  the  soul 
of  Sir  Warbeck  ;  hear  him,  sir  knight, — hear  the  noble 
youih." 

"  Heaven  cries  aloud  in  his  voice,"  said  the  Templar, 
solemnly. 

"My  son,  I  cannot  chide  thine  ardor,"  said  the  old  chief, 
raising  him  with  trembling  hands  ;  "  but  Leoline,  thy  be- 
trothed ?  " 

Pale  as  a  statue,  with  ears  that  doubted  their  sense  as 
they  drank  in  the  cruel  words  of  her  lover,  stood  the  orphan. 
She  did  not  speak,  she  scarcely  breathed  ;  she  sank  into  her 
seat,  and  gazed  upon  the  ground,  till,  at  the  speech  of  the 
chief,  both  maiden  pride  and  maiden  tenderness  restored  her 
consciousness,  and  she  said, — 

"  7J  uncle  ! — Shall  /bid  Otho  stay,  when  his  wishes  bid 
him  depart  ? " 

"  He  will  return  to  thee,  noble  lady,  covered  with  glor}%" 
said  the  harper  :  but  Otho  said  no  more.  The  touching  voice 
of  Leoline  went  to  his  soul ;  he  resumed  his  seat  in  silence  ; 
and  Leoline,  going  up  to  him,  whispered  gently,  "  Act  as 
though  I  were  not ; "  and  left  the  hall  to  commune  with  her 
heart  and  to  weep  alone. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  163 

"  I  can  wed  her  before  I  go,"  said  Otho,  suddenly,  as  he 
sat  tliat  night  in  the  Templar's  chamber. 

"  Why,  that  is  true  ;  and  leave  thy  bride  in  the  first  week 
—a  hard  trial  !  " 

"  Better  than  incur  the  chance  of  never  Calling  her  mine. 
Dear,  kind,  beloved  Leoline  !  " 

"Assuredly,  she  deserves  all  from  thee  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is 
no  small  sacrifice,  at  thy  years  and  with  thy  mien,  to  re- 
nounce for  ever  all  interest  among  the  noble  maidens  thou 
wilt  visit.  Ah,  from  the  galleries  of  Constantinople  what 
eyes  will  look  down  on  thee,  and  what  ears,  learning  that 
thou  art  Otho  the  bridegroom,  will  turn  away,  caring  for  thee 
no  more  !  A  bridegroom  without  a  bride  !  Nay,  man,  much 
as  the  Cross  wants  warriors,  I  am  enough  thy  friend  to  tell 
thee,  if  thou  weddest,  to  stay  peaceably  at  home,  and  forget 
in  the  chase  the  labors  of  war,  from  which  thou  wouldst  strip 
the  ambition  of  love." 

"  I  would  I  knew  what  were  best,"  said  Otho,  irreso- 
lutely. "  My  brother — ha,  shall  he  for  ever  excel  me  ? 
But  Leoline,  how  will  she  grieve — she  who  left  him  for 
me  !  " 

"  Was  that  thy  fault  ?  "  said  the  Templar,  gayly.  *'  It 
may  many  times  chance  to  thee  again  to  be  preferred  to 
another.  Troth,  it  is  a  sin  under  which  the  conscience  may 
walk  lightly  enough.  But  sleep  on  it,  Otho  ;  my  eyes  grow 
heavy." 

The  next  day  Otho  sought  Leoline,  and  proposed  to  her 
that  their  wedding  should  precede  his  parting  ;  but  so  em- 
barrassed was  he,  so  divided  between  two  wishes,  that 
Leoline,  offended,  hurt,  stung  by  his  coldness,  refused 
the  proposal  at  once.  She  left  him,  lest  he  should  see 
her  weep,  and  then — then  she  repented  even  of  her  just 
pride. 

But  Otho,  striving  to  appease  his  conscience  with  the  belief 
that  hers  was  now  the  sole  fault,  busied  himself  in  prepara- 
tions for  his  departure.  Anxious  to  outshine  his  brother,  he 
departed  not  as  Warbeck,  alone  and  unattended,  but  levying 
all  the  horse,  men,  and  money  that  his  domain  of  Sternfels — 
which  he  had  not  yet  tenanted — would  afiford,  he  repaired  to 
Frankfort  at  the  head  of  a  glittering  troop. 

The  Templar,  affecting  a  relapse,  tarried  behind,  and 
promised  to  join  him  at  that  Constantinople  of  which  he  had 
so  loudly  boasted.  Meanwhile  he  devoted  his  whole  powers 
of  pleasing  to  console  the  unhappy  orphan.     The  force  oi 


i64  I^HE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIinVE. 

her  simple  love  was,  however,  stronger  than  all  his  arts.  In 
vain  he  insinuated  doubts  of  Otho  ;  she  refused  to  heal 
them  :  in  vain  he  poured  with  the  softest  accents  into  her  ear 
the  witchery  of  flattery  and  song :  she  turned  heedlessly 
away  :  and  only  pained  by  the  courtesies  that  had  so  little 
resemblance  to  Otho,  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  chamber, 
and  pined  in  solitude  for  her  forsaken 

The  Templar  now  resolved  to  attempt  darker  arts  to 
obtain  power  over  her,  when,  fortunately,  he  was  sum 
moned  suddenly  away  by  a  mission  from  the  Grand  Master, 
of  so  high  import,  that  it  could  not  be  resisted  by  a  passion 
stronger  in  his  breast  than  love- — the  passion  of  ambition. 
He  left  the  castle  to  its  solitude ;  and  Otho  peopling  it  no 
more  with  his  gay  companions,  no  solitude  could  be  more  un- 
frequently  disturbed. 

Meanwhile,  though,  ever  and  anon,  the  fame  of  Warbeck 
reached  their  ears,  it  came  unaccompanied  with  that  of 
Otho, — of  him  they  heard  no  tidings  :  and  thus  the  love  ol 
the  tender  orphan  was  kept  alive  by  the  perpetual  restless- 
ness of  fear.  At  length  the  old  chief  died,  and  Leoline  was 
left  utterly  alone. 

One  evening  as  she  sat  with  her  maidens  in  the  hall,  the 
ringing  of  a  steed's  hoofs  was  heard  in  the  outer  court ;  a 
horn  sounded,  the  heavy  gates  were  unbarred,  and  a  knight 
of  a  stately  mien  and  covered  with  the  mantle  of  the  Cross, 
entered  the  hall  ;  he  stopped  for  one  moment  at  the  entrance, 
as  if  overpowered  by  his  emotion ;  in  the  next,  he  had 
clasped  Leoline  to  his  breast. 

"  Dost  thou  not  recognize  thy  cousin  Warbeck }  "  He 
doffed  his  casque,  and  she  saw  that  majestic  brow  which,  un- 
like Otho's,  had  never  changed  or  been  clouded  in  its  aspect 
to  her. 

"  The  war  is  suspended  for  the  present,"  said  he.  "  I 
learned  my  father's  death,  and  I  have  returned  home  to 
hang  up  my  banner  in  the  hall,  and  spend  my  days  in 
peace." 

Time  and  the  life  of  camps  had  worked  their  change  upon 
Warbeck's  face ;  the  fair  hair,  deepened  in  its  shade,  was 
worn  from  the  temples  ;  and  disclosed  one  scar  that  rather 
aided  the  beauty  of  a  countenance  that  had  always  some- 
thing high  and  martial  in  its  character ;  but  the  calm  it  once 
wore  had  settled  down  into  sadness  ;  he  conversed  more 
rarely  than  before,  and  though  he  smiled  not  less  often,  nor 
less  kindly,  the  smile  had  more  of  thought,  and  the  kindness 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  165 

had  forgot  its  passion.  He  had  apparently  conquered  a  love 
that  was  so  early  crossed,  but  not  that  fidelity  of  re- 
membrance which  made  Leoline  dearer  to  him  than  all 
others,  and  forbade  him  to  replace  the  images  he  had  graven 
upon  his  soul. 

The  orphan's  lips  trembled  with  the  name  of  Otho,  but  a 
certain  recollection  stifled  even  her  anxiety.  Warbeck  has- 
tened to  forestall  her  questions. 

"  Otho  was  well,"  he  said,  "  and  sojourning  at  Constan- 
tinople ;  he  had  lingered  there  so  long  that  the  crusade  had 
terminated  without  his  aid  :  doubtless  now  he  would  speedily 
return  ;  a  month,  a  week,  nay,  a  day,  might  restore  him  to 
her  side." 

Leoline  was  inexpressibly  consoled,  yet  something  re- 
mained untold.  Why,  if  so  eager  for  the  strife  of  the  sacred 
tomb,  had  he  thus  tarried  at  Constantinople  ?  She  won- 
dered, she  wearied  conjecture,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  search 
farther. 

The  generous  Warbeck  concealed  from  her  that  Otho  led 
a  life  of  the  most  reckless  and  indolent  dissipation  ; — wasting 
his  wealth  in  the  pleasures  of  the  Greek  court,  and  only  oc- 
cupying his  ambition  with  the  wild  schemes  of  founding  a 
principality  in  those  foreign  climes,  w"hich  the  enterprises  of 
the  Norman  adventurers  had  rendered  so  alluring  to  the 
knightly  bandits  of  the  age. 

The  cousins  resumed  their  old  friendship,  and  Warbeck 
believed  that  it  was  friendship  alone.  They  walked  again 
among  the  gardens  in  which  their  childhood  had  strayed  ; 
they  sat  again  on  the  green  turf  whereon  they  had  woven 
flowers  ;  they  looked  down  on  the  eternal  mirror  of  the 
Rhine  ; — ah  !  could  it  have  reflected  the  same  unawakened 
freshness  of  their  life's  early  spring  ! 

The  grave  and  contemplative  mind  of  Warbeck  had  not 
been  so  contented  with  the  honors  of  war,  but  that  .it  had 
sought  also  those  calmer  sources  of  emotion  which  were  yet 
found  among  the  sages  of  the  East.  He  had  drunk  at  the 
fountain  of  the  wisdom  of  those  distant  climes,  and  had  ac- 
quired the  habits  of  meditation  which  were  indulged  by  those 
wiser  tribes,  from  which  the  Crusaders  brought  back  to  the 
North  the  knowledge  that  was  destined  to  enlighten  their 
posterity.  Warbeck,  therefore,  had  little  in  common  with  the 
ruder  chiefs  around  :  he  did  not  summon  them  to  his  board, 
nor  attend  at  their  noisy  wassails.  Often  late  at  night,  in 
yon   shattered   tower,    his    lonely  lamp  shone  still  over  the 


1 66  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

mighty  stream,  and  his  only  relief  to   loneliness  was  in  the 
presence  and  the  song  of  his  soft  cousin. 

Months  rolled  on,  when  suddenly  a  vague  and  fearful 
rumor  reached  the  castle  of  Liebenstein.  Otho  was  return- 
ing home  to  the  neighboring  tower  of  Sternfels  ;  but  not  alone. 
He  brought  back  with  him  a  Greek  bride  of  surpassing 
beauiy,  and  dowered  with  almost  regal  wealth.  Leoline  was 
the  first  to  discredit  the  rumor ;  Leoline  was  soon  the  only 
one  who  disbelieved. 

.  Bright  in  the  summer  noon  flashed  the  array  of  horse- 
men ;  far  up  the  steep  ascent  wound  the  gorgeous  cavalcade  ; 
the  lonely  towers  of  Liebenstein  heard  the  echo  of  many  a 
laugh  and  peal  of  merriment.  Otho  bore  home  his  bride  to 
the  hall  of  Sternfels. 

That  night  there  was  a  great  banquet  in  Otho's  castle ; 
the  lights  shone  from  every  casement,  and  music  swelled  loud 
and  ceaselessly  within. 

By  the  side  of  Otho,  glittering  with  the  prodigal  jewels 
of  the  East,  sat  the  Greek.  Her  dark  locks,  her  flashing 
eye,  the  false  colors  of  her  complexion,  dazzled  the  eyes  of 
her  guests.     On  her  left  hand  sat  the  Templar. 

"  By  the  holy  rood,"  quoth  the  Templar,  gayly,  though 
he  crossed  himself  as  he  spoke,  "  we  shall  scare  the  owls  to- 
night on  those  grim  towers  of  Liebenstein.  Thy  grave 
brother.  Sir  Otho,  will  have  much  to  do  to  comfort  his  cousin 
when  she  sees  what  a  gallant  life  she  would  have  led  with 
thee." 

"  Poor  damsel !  "  said  the  Greek,  with  afl"ected  pity, 
"  doubtless  she  will  now  be  reconciled  to  the  rejected  one.  I 
hear  he  is  a  knight  of  a  comely  mien." 

"  Peace  ! "  said  Otho,  sternly,  and  quaffing  a  large  goblet 
of  wine. 

The  Greek  bit  her  lip,  and  glanced  meaningly  at  the  Tem- 
plar, who  returned  the  glance. 

"  Nought  but  a  beauty  such  as  thine  can  win  my  par- 
don," said  Otho,  turning  to  his  bride,  and  gazing  passionate- 
ly in  her  face. 

The  Greek  smiled. 

Well  sped  the  feast,  the  laugh  deepened,  the  wine  circled, 
when  Otho's  eye  rested  on  a  guest  at  the  bottom  of  the 
board,  whose  figure  was  mantled  from  head  to  foot,  and  whose 
face  was  covered  by  a  dark  veil. 

"  Beshrew   me  !  "    said   he,  aloud ;    "  but  this  is   scarce 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  167 

courteous  at  our  revel :  will  the  stranger  vouchsafe  to  un- 
mask ? " 

These  words  turned  all  eyes  to  the  figure,  and  they  who 
sat  next  it  perceived  that  it  trembled  violently  ;  at  length  it 
rose,  and  walking  slowly,  but  with  grace,  to  the  fair  Greek,  it 
laid  beside  her  a  wreath  of  flowers. 

"  It  is  a  simple  gift,  ladye,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  voice 
of  such  sweetness  that  the  rudest  guest  was  touched  by 
it.  "  But  it  is  all  I  can  offer,  and  the  bride  of  Otho 
should  not  be  without  a  gift  at  my  hands.  May  ye  both  be 
happy  !  " 

With  these  words,  the  stranger  turned  and  passed  from 
the  hall  silent  as  a  shadow. 

"  Bring  back  the  stranger  !  "  cried  the  Greek,  recovering 
her  surprise.     Twenty  guests  sprang  up  to  obey  her  mandate. 

"  No,  no !  "  said  Otho,  waving  his  hand  impatiently. 
"Touch  her  not,  heed  her  not,  at  your  peril." 

The  Greek  bent  over  the  flowers  to  conceal  her  anger, 
and  from  amongst  them  dropped  the  broken  half  of  a  ring. 
Otho  recognized  it  at  once  ;  it  was  the  half  of  that  ring  which 
he  had  broken  with  his  betrothed.  Alas,  he  required  not 
such  a  sign  to  convince  him  that  that  figure,  so  full  of  ineffable 
grace,  that  touching  voice,  that  simple  action  so  tender  in  its 
sentiment,  that  gift,  that  blessing,  came  only  from  the  for- 
saken and  forgiving  Leoline  ! 

But  Warbeck,  alone  in  his  solitary  tower,  paced  to  and 
fro  with  agitated  steps.  Deep,  undying  wrath  at  his  brother's 
falsehood,  mingled  with  one  burning,  one  delicious  hope.  He 
confessed  now  that  he  had  deceived  himself  when  he  thought 
Ills  passion  was  no  more  ;  was  there  any  longer  a  bar  to  his 
union  with  Leoline  ? 

In  that  delicacy  which  was  breathed  into  him  by  his  love, 
he  had  forborne  to  seek,  or  to  offer  her  the  insult  of  consola- 
tion. He  felt  that  the  shock  should  be  borne  alone,  and  yet 
he  pined,  he  thirsted,  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet. 

Nursing  these  contending  thoughts,  he  was  aroused  by  a 
knock  at  his  door  ;  he  opened  it — the  passage  was  thronged  by 
Leoline's  maidens  ;  pale,  anxious,  weeping.  Leoline  had  left 
the  castle,  with  but  one  female  attendant ;  none  knew  whither  : 
— they  knew  too  soon.  From  the  hall  of  Sternfels  she  had 
passed  over  in  the  dark  and  inclement  night,  to  the  valley  in 
which  the  convent  of  Bornhofed  offered  to  the  weary  of  spiri< 
and  the  broken  of  heart  a  refuge  at  the  shrine  of  God. 

At  daybreak  the  next  morning,  Warbeck  was  at  the  con 


1 68  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

vent's  gate.  He  saw  Leoline  :  what  a  change  one  night  ot 
suffering  had  made  in  that  face,  which  was  the  fountain  of  all 
loveUness  to  him  ?  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  ;  he  wept ;  he 
urged  all  that  love  could  urge  :  he  besought  her  to  accept 
that  heart,  which  had  never  wronged  her  memorj^bv  a  thought. 
"  Oh,  Leoline  !  didst  thou  not  say  once  that  these  arms 
nursed  thy  childhood  ;  that  this  voice  soothed  thine  early 
sorrows  !  Ah,  trust  to  them  again  and  for  ever.  From  a  love 
that  forsook  thee,  turn  to  the  love  that  never  swerved." 

"  No,"  said  Leoline  ;  "  No.  What  would  the  chivalry 
of  which  thou  art  the  boast — what  would  they  say  of  thee, 
wert  thou  to  wed  one  affianced  and  deserted,  who  tarried 
years  for  another,  and  brought  to  thine  arms  only  that  heart 
which  he  had  abandoned  .''  No  ;  and  even  if  thou,  and  I  know 
thou  wouldst  be,  wert  callous  to  such  wrong  of  thy  high  name, 
shall  I  bring  to  thee  a  broken  heart,  and  bruised  spirit  1  shalt 
thou  wed  sorrow  and  not  joy  ?  and  shall  sighs  that  will  not 
cease,  and  tears  that  may  not  be  dried,  be  the  only  dowry  of 
thy  bride  ?  Thou,  too,  for  whom  all  blessings  should  be  or- 
dained ?  No,  forget  me  ;  forget  thy  poor  Leoline  !  She  hath 
nothing  but  prayers  for  thee." 

In  vain  Warbeck  pleaded  ;  in  vain  he  urged  all  that 
passion  and  truth  could  urge  ;  the  springs  of  earthly  love  were 
for  ever  dried  up  in  the  orphan's  heart,  and  her  resolution 
was  immovable — she  tore  herself  from  his  arms,  and  the  gate 
of  the  convent  creaked  harshly  on  his  ear. 

A  new  and  stern  emotion  now  wholly  possessed  him  ; 
though  naturally  mild  and  gentle,  he  cherished  anger,  when 
once  it  was  aroused,  with  the  strength  of  a  calm  mind. 
Leoline's  tears,  her  sufferings,  her  wrongs,  her  uncomplaining 
spirit,  the  change  already  stamped  upon  her  face,  all  cried 
aloud  to  him  for  vengeance.  •'  She  is  an  orphan,"  said  he, 
bitterly  ;  "she  hath  none  to  protect,  to  redress  her,  save  me 
alone.  My  father's  charge  over  her  forlorn  youth  descends 
of  right  to  me.  What  matters  it  whether  her  forsaker  be  my 
brother  ? — he  is  her  foe.  Hath  he  not  crushed  her  heart  i 
Hath  he  not  consigned  her  to  sorrow  till  the  grave  ?  And 
with  what  insult ;  no  warning,  no  excuse  ;  with  lewd  wassailers 
keeping  revel  for  his  new  bridals  in  the  hearing — before  the 
sight — of  his  betrothed  !  Enough  !  the  time  hath  come, 
when,  to  use  his  own  words,  '  One  of  us  two  must  fall ! '  "  He 
half-drew  his  sword  as  he  spoke,  and  thrusting  it  back  vio- 
lently into  the  sheath,  strode  home  to  his  solitary  castle.  The 
sound  of  steeds  and  of  the  hunting  horn  met  him  at  his  por 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  169 

tal  :  the  bridal  train  of  Sternfels,  all  mirth  and  gladness,  were 
parting  for  the  chase. 

That  evening  a  knight  in  complete  armor  entered  the 
banquet-hall  of  Sternfels,  and  defied  Otho,  on  the  part  of 
Warbeck  of  Liebenstein,  to  mortal  combat. 

Even  the  Templar  was  startled  by  so  unnatural  a  challenge  ; 
but  Otho,  reddening,  took  up  the  gage,  and  the  day  and  spot 
were  fixed.  Discontented,  wroth  with  himself,  a  savage  glad- 
ness seized  him,  he  longed  to  wreak  his  desperate  feelingseven 
on  his  brother.  Nor  had  he  ever  in  his  jealous  heart  for- 
given that  brother  his  virtues  and  his  renown. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  the  brothers  met  as  foes.  War- 
beck's  vizor  was  up,  and  all  the  settled  sternness  of  his  soul 
was  stamped  upon  his  brow.  But  Otho,  more  willing  to 
brave  the  arm  than  to  face  the  front  of  his  brother,  kept  his 
vizor  down  ;  the  Templar  stood  by  him  with  folded  arms.  It 
was  a  study  in  human  passions  to  his  mocking  mind.  Scarce 
had  the  first  trump  sounded  to  this  dread  conflict,  when  a  new 
actor  entered  on  the  scene.  The  rumor  of  so  unprecedented 
an  event  had  not  failed  to  reach  the  convent  of  Bornhofen  ; — 
and  now,  two  by  two,  came  the  sisters  of  the  holy  shrine,  and 
the  armed  men  made  way,  as  with  trailing  garments  and 
veiled  faces  they  swept  along  into  the  very  lists.  At  that 
moment  one  from  amongst  them  left  her  sisters  with  a  slow 
majestic  pace,  and  paused  not  till  she  stood  right  between  the 
brother  foes. 

"  Warbeck,"  she  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  that  curdled  up  his 
dark  spirit  as  it  spoke,  "  is  it  thus  thou  wouldst  prove  thy  lovy 
and  maintain  thy  trust  over  the  fatherless  orphan  whom  thy 
sire  bequeathed  to  thy  care  ?  Shall  I  have  murder  on  me 
soul  ?  "  At  that  question  she  paused,  and  those  who  heard 
It  were  struck  dumb  and  shuddered. 

"  Shall  I  forget  thy  wrongs,  Leoline  ?  "  said  Warbeck. 
"  Wrongs  !  they  united  me  to  God  !  they  are  forgiven, 
they  are  no  more.  Earth  has  deserted  me,  but  heaven  hath 
taken  me  to  its  arms  ; — shall  I  murmur  at  the  change  ?  And 
thou,  Otho — (here  her  voice  faltered) — thou,  does  thy  con- 
science smite  thee  not  ? — wouldst  thou  atone  for  robbing  me 
of  hope  by  barring  against  me  the  future  ?  Wretch  that  I 
should  be,  could  I  dream  of  mercy — could  I  dream  of  com- 
fort, if  thy  brother  fell  by  thy  sword  in  my  cause  ?  Otho,  ] 
have  pardoned  thee,  and  blessed  thee  and  thine.  Once,  per- 
haps, thou  didst  love  me  ;  remember  how  I  loved  thee — cast 
down  thine  arms." 


lyo 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


Otho  gazed  at  the  veiled  form  before  him.  Where  had 
the  soft  Leoline  learned  to  command? — he  turned  to  his 
brother  ,  he  felt  all  that  he  had  inflicted  upon  both  ;  and  cast- 
ing his  sword  upon  the  ground,  he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  Leo- 
line,  and  kissed  her  garment  with  a  devotion  that  votary 
never  lavished  on  a  holier  saint. 

The  spell  that  lay  over  the  warriors  around  was  broken  ; 
there  was  one  loud  cry  of  congratulation  and  joy.  "  And 
thou,  Warbeck  !  "  said  Leoline,  turning  to  the  sjDOt  where, 
still  motionless  and  haughty,  Warbeck  stood. 

"  Have  I  ever  rebelled  against  thy  will  ?  "  said  he,  softly ; 
and  buried  the  point  of  his  sword  in  the  earth. — "  Yet,  Leo- 
line, yet,"  added  he,  looking  at  his  kneeling  brother,  "  yet 
art  thou  already  better  avenged  than  by  this  steel !  " 

"  Thou  art  !  thou  art !  "  cried  Otho,  smiting  his  breast ; 
and  slowly,  and  scarce  noting  the  crowd  that  fell  back  from 
his  path,  Warbeck  left  the  lists. 

Leoline  said  no  more  ;  her  divine  errand  was  fulfilled. 
She  looked  long  and  wistfully  after  the  stately  form  of  the 
knight  of  Liebenstein,  and  then,  with  a  slight  sigh,  she  turned 
to  Otho  :  "  This  is  the  last  time  we  shall  meet  on  earth. 
Peace  be  with  us  all." 

She  then,  with  the  same  majestic  and  collected  bearing, 
passed  on  towards  the  sisterhood ;  and  as,  in  the  same  sol- 
emn procession,  they  glided  back  towards  the  convent,  there 
was  not  a  man  present — no,  not  even  the  hardened  Templar 
— who  would  not,  like  Otho,  have  bent  his  knee  to  Leoline. 

Once  more  Otho  plunged  into  the  wild  revelry  of  the 
age  ;  his  castle  was  thronged  with  guests,  and  night  after 
night  the  lighted  halls  shone  down  athwart  the  tranquil 
Rliine.  The  beauty  of  the  Greek,  the  wealth  of  Otho,  the 
fame  of  the  Templar,  attracted  all  the  chivalry  from  far  and 
near.  Never  had  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  known  so  hospita- 
ble a  lord  as  the  knight  of  Sternfels.  Yet  gloom  seized  him 
in  the  midst  of  gladness,  and  the  revel  was  welcome  only  as 
the  escape  from  remorse.  The  voice  of  scandal,  however, 
soon  began  to  mingle  with  that  of  envy  at  the  pomp  of  Otho. 
The  fair  Greek,  it  was  said,  weary  of  her  lord,  lavished  her 
smiles  on  others  :  the  young  and  the  fair  were  always  most 
acceptable  at  the  castle  ;  and,  above  all,  her  guilty  love  for 
the  Templar  scarcely  affected  disguise.  Otho  alone  ap- 
peared unconscious  of  the  rumor  ;  and  though  he  had  begun 
to  neglect  his  bride,  he  relaxed  not  in  his  intimacy  with  the 
Templar. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  171 

It  was  noon,  and  the  Greek  was  sitting  in  her  bower  alone 
with  her  suspected  lover  ;  the  rich  perfumes  of  the  East 
mingled  with  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and  various  luxuries, 
unknown  till  then  in  those  northern  shores,  gave  a  soft  and 
effeminate  character  to  the  room. 

"  I  tell  thee,"  said  the  Greek,  petulantly,  "  that  he  begins 
to  suspect ;  that  I  have  seen  him  watch  thee,  and  mutter  as 
he  watched,  and  play  with  the  hilt  of  his  dagger.  Better  .et 
us  fly  ere  it  is  too  late,  for  his  vengeance  would  be  terril)le 
were  it  once  roused  against  us.  Ah,  why  did  I  ever  forsake 
my  own  sweet  land  for  these  barbarous  shores  !  There,  love 
is  not  considered  eternal,  nor  inconstancy  a  crime  worthy 
death." 

"  Peace,  pretty  one  !  "  said  the  Templar,  carelessly , 
"  ihou  knowest  not  the  laws  of  our  foolish  chivalry.  Think- 
est  thou  I  could  tly  from  a  knight's  halls  like  a  thief  in  the 
night  ?  Why  verily,  even  the  red  cross  would  not  cover  such 
dishonor.  If  thou  fearest  that  thy  dull  lord  suspects,  let  us 
part.  The  emperor  hath  sent  to  me  from  Frankfort.  Ere 
evening  I  might  be  on  my  way  thither." 

"  And  I  left  to  brave  the  barbarian's  revenge  alone  ?  Is 
this  thy  chivalry  ?  " 

"  Nay,  prate  not  so  wildly,"  answered  the  Templar. 
"  Surely,  when  the  object  of  his  suspicion  is  gone,  thy  woman's 
art  and  thy  Greek  wiles  can  easily  allay  the  jealous  fiend. 
Do  I  not  know  thee,  Glycera .''  Why,  thou  wouldst  fool  all 
men — save  a  Templar." 

"  And  thou,  cruel,  wouldst  thou  leave  me  ?  "  said  the 
Greek,  weeping.     "  How  shall  I  live  without  thee  ?  " 

The  Templar  laughed  slightly.  "  Can  such  eyes  ever 
weep  without  a  comforter  ?  But  farewell ;  I  must  not  be 
found  with  thee.  To-morrow  I  depart  for  Frankfort;  we  shall 
meet  again." 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  on  the  Templar,  the  Greek 
rose,  and  pacing  the  room  said,  "  Selfish,  selfish  !  how  could 
I  ever  trust  him  1  Yet  I  dare  not  brave  Otho  alone.  Surely 
it  was  his  step  that  disturbed  us  in  our  yesterday's  interview. 
Nay,  I  will  fly.     I  can  never  want  a  companion." 

She  clapped  her  hands  ;  a  young  page  appeared  ;  she 
threw  herself  on  her  seat  and  wept  bitterly. 

The  page  approached,  and  love  was  mingled  with  his 
compassion. 

"  Why  weepest  thou,  dearest  lady  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  is  there 


172 


THE  riLGKJMS  OF  THE  R II LYE. 


aught  in  which  Conrad's  services — services! — ah  thou  hast 
read  his  heart — fiis  devotion  may  avail  ?  " 

Otho  had  wandered  out  the  whole  day  alone  ;  his  vassals 
had  observed  that  his  brow  was  more  gloomy  than  its  wont, 
for  he  usually  concealed  whatever  might  prey  within.  Some 
of  the  most  confidential  of  his  servitors  he  had  conferred 
with,  and  the  conference  had  deepened  the  shadow  on  his 
countenance.  He  returned  at  twilight ;  the  Greek  did  not 
honor  the  repast  with  her  presence.  She  was  unwell,  and 
not  to  be  disturbed.  The  gay  Templar  was  the  life  of  the 
board. 

"  Thou  carriest  a  sad  brow  to-day.  Sir  Otho,"  said  he 
"  good  faith,  thou  hast  caught  it  from  the  air  of  Liebenstein. 

"  I  have  something  troubles  me,"  answered  Otho,  forcing 
a  smile,  "which  I  would  fain  impart  to  thy  friendly  bosom. 
The  night  is  clear  and  the  moon  is  up,  let  us  forth  alone  into 
the  garden." 

The  Temple  rose  and  he  forgot  not  to  gird  on  his  sword 
as  he  followed  the  knight. 

Otho  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  most  distant  terraces  that 
overhung  the  Rhine. 

"  Sir  Temple,"  said  he,  pausing,  "  answer  me  one  ques- 
tion on  thy  knightly  honor.  Was  it  thy  step  that  left  my  lady's 
bower  yestereve  at  vespers  ?  " 

Startled  by  so  sudden  a  query,  the  wily  Templar  faltered 
in  his  reply. 

The  red  blood  mounted  to  Otho's  brow.  "  Nay,  lie  not, 
sir  knight.  These  eyes,  thanks  to  God  !  have  not  witnessed, 
but  these  ears  have  heard  from  others  of  my  dishonor." 

As  Otho  spoke,  the  Templar's  eye,  resting  on  the  water, 
perceived  a  boat  rowing  fast  over  the  Rhine  ;  the  distance 
forbade  him  to  see  more  than  the  outline  of  two  figures  with- 
in it.  "  She  was  right,"  thought  he  ;  "  perhaps  that  boat  al 
ready  bears  her  from  the  danger." 

Drawing  himself  up  to  the  full  height  of  his  tall  stature, 
the  Templar  replied  haughtih', — 

"  Sir  Otho  of  Sternfels,  if  thou  hast  deigned  to  question 
thy  vassals,  obtain  from  them  only  an  answer.  It  is  not  to 
contradict  such  minions  that  the  knights  of  the  Temple  pledge 
their  word !  " 

"  Enough,"  cried  Otho,  losing  patience,  and  striking  the 
Templar  with  his  clenched  hand.     "  Draw,  traitor  !  draw  !  " 

Alone  in  his  lofty  tower  Warbeck  watched  the  night 
deepen  over  the    heavens,  and   communed   mournfully   with 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  173 

himself.  "  To  what  end,"  thought  he,  "  have  these  strong 
affections,  these  capacities  of  love,  this  yearning  after  sym- 
pathy, been  given  me  ?  Unloved  and  unknown  I  walk  to  my 
grave,  and  all  the  noble  mysteries  of  my  heart  are  forever 
to  be  untold." 

Thus  musing,  he  heard  not  the  challenge  of  the  warder 
on  the  wall,  or  the  unbarring  of  the  gate  below,  or  the  tread 
of  footsteps  along  the  winding  stair  ;  the  door  was  thrown 
suddenly  open,  and  Otho  stood  before  him.  "  Come,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice  trembling  with  passion  ;  "  come,  I  will 
show  thee  that  which  shall  glad  thine  heart.  Twofold  is 
Leoline  avenged." 

Warbeck  looked  in  amazement  on  a  brother  he  had  not 
met  since  they  stood  in  arms  each  against  the  other's  life, 
and  he  now  saw  that  the  arm  that  Otho  extended  to  him 
dripped  with  blood,  trickling  drop  by  drop  upon  the  floor. 

"  Come,"  said  Otho,  "  follow  nie  ;  it  is  my  last  prayer. 
Come,  for  Leoline's  sake,  come." 

At  that  name  Warbeck  hesitated  no  longer  ;  he  girded  on 
his  sword,  and  followed  his  brother  down  the  stairs  and 
through  the  castle-gate.  The  porter  scarcely  believed  his 
eyes  when  he  saw  the  two  brothers,  so  divided,  go  forth  at 
that  hour  alone,  and  seemingly  in  friendship. 

Warbeck,  arrived  at  that  epoch  in  the  feelings  when 
nothing  stuns,  followed  with  silent  steps  the  rapid  strides  of 
his  brother.  The  two  castles,  as  you  are  aware,  are  scarce  a 
stone's  throw  from  each  other.  In  a  few  minutes  Otho 
paused  at  an  open  space  in  one  of  the  terraces  of  Sternfels, 
on  which  the  moon  shone  bright  and  steady.  ''  Behold  !  " 
he  said,  in  a  ghastly  voice,  "  behold ! "  and  Warbeck 
saw  on  the  sward  the  corpse  of  the  Templar,  bathed 
with  the  blood  that  even  still  poured  fast  and  warm  from  his 
heart. 

"  Hark  !  "  said  Otho.  "  He  it  was  who  first  made  me 
waver  in  my  vows  to  Leoline  ;  he  persuaded  me  to  Vvcd  yon 
whited  falsehood.  Hark  !  he,  who  had  thus  wronged  my 
real  love,  dishonored  me  with  my  faithless  bride,  and  thus — ■ 
thus — thus  " — as  grinding  his  teeth,  he  spurned  again  and 
again  the  dead  body  of" the  Templar — "thus  Leoline  and 
myself  are  avenged  !  " 

"  And  thy  wife  1  "  said  Warbeck,  pityingly. 

"  Fled — fled  with  a  hireling  page.  It  is  well !  she 
was  not  worth  the  sword  that  was  once  belted  on — by 
Leoline." 


174  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

The  tradition,  dear  Gertrude,  proceeds  to  tell  us  that 
Otho,  though  often  menaced  by  the  rude  justice  of  the  day 
for  the  death  of  the  Templar,  defied  and  escaped  the 
menace.  On  the  very  night  of  his  revenge,  a  long  delirious 
illness  seized  him ;  the  generous  Warbeck  forgave,  forgot  all, 
save  that  he  had  been  once  consecrated  by  Leoline's  love. 
He  tended  him  through  his  sickness,  and  when  he  recovered, 
Otho  was  an  altered  man.  He  forswore  the  comrades  he 
had  once  courted,  the  revels  he  had  once  led.  The  halls  of 
Sternfels  were  desolate  as  those  of  Liebenstein,  The  only 
companion  Otho  sought  was  Warbeck,  and  Warbeck  bore 
with  him.  They  had  no  topic  in  common,  for  on  one  subject 
Warbeck  at  least  felt  too  deeply  ever  to  trust  himself  to 
speak  ;  yet  did  a  strange  and  secret  sympathy  re-unite  them. 
They  had  at  least  a  common  sorrow  ;  often  they  were  seen 
wandering  together  by  the  solitary  banks  of  the  river,  or 
amidst  the  woods,  without  apparently  interchanging  word  or 
sign.  Otho  died  first,  and  still  in  the  prime  of  youth  ;  and 
Warbeck  was  now  left  companionless.  In  vain  the  imperial 
court  wooed  him  to  its  pleasures  ;  in  vain  the  camp  proffered 
him  the  oblivion  of  renown.  Ah  !  could  he  tear  himself 
from  a  spot  where  morning  and  night  he  could  see  afar, 
amidst  the  valley,  the  roof  that  sheltered  Leoline,  and  on 
which  every  copse,  every  turf,  reminded  him  of  former  days  ? 
His  solitary  life,  his  midnight  vigils,  strange  scrolls  about  his 
chamber,  obtained  him  by  degrees  the  repute  of  cultivating 
the  darker  arts  ;  and  shunning,  he  became  shunned  by  all. 
But  still  it  was  sweet  to  hear  from  time  to  time  of  the  increas- 
ing sanctity  of  her  in  whom  he  had  treasured  up  his  last 
thoughts  of  earth.  She  it  was  who  healed  the  sick  ;  she  it 
was  who  relieved  the  poor ;  and  the  superstition  of 
that  age  brought  pilgrims  from  afar  to  the  altars  that  she 
served. 

Many  years  afterwards,  a  band  of  lawless  robbers,  who 
ever  and  anon  broke  from  their  mountain  fastnesses  to 
pillage  and  to  desolate  the  valleys  of  the  Rhine  ;  who  spared 
neither  sex  nor  age  ;  neither  tower  nor  hut ;  nor  even  the 
houses  of  God  himself ;  laid  waste  the  territories  round 
Bornhofen,  and  demanded  treasure  from  the  convent.  The 
abbess,  of  the  bold  lineage  of  Rudesheim,  refused  the  sacri- 
legious demand ;  the  convent  was  stormed ;  its  vassals  re- 
sisted ;  the  robbers,  inured  to  slaughter,  won  the  day  ;  al- 
ready the  gates  were  forced,  when  a  knight  at  the  head  of  a 
small  but  hardy  trooD,  rushed  down  from  the  mountain  siae, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  175 

and  turned  the  tide  of  the  fray.  Wherever  his  sword  flashed, 
fell  a  foe.  Wherever  his  war-cry  sounded,  was  a  space  of 
dead  men  in  the  thick  of  the  battle.  The  fight  was  won ;  the 
convent  saved  ;  the  abbess  and  the  sisterhood  came  forth  to 
bless  their  deliverer.  Laid  under  an  aged  oak,  he  was 
bleedinsf  fast  to  death  :  his  head  was  bare  and  his  locks  were 
gray,  but  scarcely  yet  with  years.  One  only  of  the  sister- 
hood recognized  that  majestic  face  ;  one  bathed  his  parched 
lips  ;  one  held  his  dying  hand  ;  and  in  Leoline's  presence 
passed  away  the  faithful  spirit  of  the  last  lord  of  Lieben- 
stein  ! 

"  Oh !  "  shid  Gertrude,  through  her  tears  ;  "  surely  you 
must  have  altered  the  facts, — surely — surely — it  must  have 
been  impossible  for  Leoline,  with  a  woman's  heart,  to  have 
loved  Otho  more  than  Warbeck  ?  " 

"  My  child,"  said  Vane,  "  so  think  women  when  they 
read  a  tale  of  love,  and  see  the  whole  heart  bared  before 
them  ;  but  not  so  act  they  in  real  life — when  they  see  only 
tiie  surface  of  character,  and  pierce  not  its  depths — until  it  is 
too  late !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


The  Immortality  of  the  Soul — A  Common  Incident  not  before  described 
— Trevylyan  and  Gertrude. 

The  day  now  grew  cool  as  it  waned  to  its  decline,  and  the 
breeze  came  sharp  upon  the  delicate  frame  of  the  sufferer. 
They  resolved  to  proceed  no  farther ;  and  as  they  carried 
with  them  attendants  and  baggage,  which  rendered  their 
route  almost  independent  of  the  ordinary  accommodation, 
they  steered  for  the  opposite  shore,  and  landed  at  a  village 
beautifully  sequestered  in  a  valley,  and  where  they  fortunate- 
ly obtained  a  lodging  not  often  met  with  in  the  regions  of 
the  picturesque. 

When  Gertrude,  at  an  early  hour,  retired   to  bed.  Vane 

and   Du e  fell  into  speculative  conversation   upon   the 

nature  of  man.  Vane's  philosophy  was  of  a  quiet  and  passive 
scepticism;  the  physician  dared  more  boldly,  and  rushed 
from  doubt  to  negation.     The  attention  of   Trevylyan,  as  he 


iy6  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

sat  apart  and  musing,  was  arrested  in  despite  of  himself.  He 
listened  to  an  argument  in  which  he  took  no  share  ;  but 
which  suddenly  inspired  him  with  an  interest  in  that  awful 
subject  which,  in  the  heat  of  youth  and  the  occupations  of 
the  world,  had  never  been  so  prominently  called  forth 
before. 

"  What  !  "  thought  he,  with  unutterable  anguish,  as  he 
listened  to  the  earnest  vehemence  of  the  Frenchman  and  the 
tranquil  assent  of  Vane  ;  "  if  this  creed  were  indeed  true, — 
if  there  be  no  other  world — Gertrude  is  lost  to  me  eternally, 
through  the  dread  gloom  of  death  there  would  break  forth  no 
star  !  " 

That  is  a  peculiar  incident  that  perhaps  occurs  to  us  all 
at  times,  but  which  I  have  never  found  expressed  in  books  ; 
— viz.  to  hear  a  doubt  of  futurity  at  the  very  moment  in 
which  the  present  is  most  overcast ;  and  to  find  at  once  this 
world  stripped  of  its  delusion,  and  the  next  of  its  consolation. 
It  is  perhaps  for  others,  rather  than  ourselves,  that  the  fond 
heart  requiries  an  Hereafter.  The  tranquil  rest,  the  shadow, 
and  the  silence,  the  mere  pause  of  the  wheel  of  life,  have  no 
terror  for  the  wise,  who  know  the  due  value  of  the  world, — 

"After  the  billows  of  a  -stormy  sea, 
Sweet  is  at  last  the  haven  of  repose  !" 

Eut  not  so  when  that  stillness  is  to  divide  us  eternally  from 
others  ;  when  those  we  have  loved  with  all  the  passion,  the 
devotion,  the  watchful  sanctity  of  the  weak  human  heart,  are 
to  exist  to  us  no  more  ! — when,  after  long  years  of  desertion 
and  widowhood  on  earth,  there  is  to  be  no  hope  of  re-union 
in  that  Invisible  beyond  the  stars  ;  when  the  torch,  not  of 
life  only,  but  of  love,  is  to  be  quenched  in  the  Dark  Fountain  ; 
and  the  grave,  that  we  would  fain  hope  is  the  great  restorer 
of  broken  ties,  is  but  the  dumb  seal  of  hopeless — utter — in- 
exorable separation  !  And  it  is  this  thought — this  sentiment, 
which  makes  religion  out  of  woe,  and  teaches  belief  to  the 
mourning  heart,  that  in  the  gladness  of  united  afifections  felt 
not  the  necessity  of  a  heaven  !  To  how  many  is  the  death  of 
the  beloved  the  parent  of  faith  ! 

Stung  by  his  thoughts  Trevylyan  rose  abruptly,  and  steal- 
ing from  the  lovvly  hostelry,  walked  forth  amidst  the  serene 
and  deepening  night ;  from  the  window  of  Gertrude's  room 
the  light  streamed  calm  on  the  purple  air. 

With  uneven  steps  and  many  a  pause,  he  paced  to  and 
fro  beneath  the  window,  and  gave  the  rein  to  his  thoughts. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  i-j-j 

How  intensely  he  felt  the  all  that  Gertrude  was  to  him  ! 
How  bitterly  he  foresaw  the  change  in  his  lot  and  character 
that  her  death  Avould  work  out !  For  who  that  met  him  in 
later  years  ever  dreamed  that  emotions  so  soft,  and  yet  so 
ardent,  had  visited  one  so  stern  ?  Who  could  have  believed 
that  time  was,  when  the  polished  and  cold  Trevylyan  had 
kept  the  vigils  he  now  held  below  the  chamber  of  one  so 
little  like  himself  as  Gertrude,  in  that  remote  and  solitary 
hamlet ;  shut  in  by  the  haunted  mountains"  of  the  Rhine,  and 
beneath  the  moonlight  of  the  romantic  North? 

While  thus  engaged,  the  light  in  Gertrude's  room  was 
suddenly  extinguished  ;  it  is  impossible  to  express  how  much 
that  trivial  incident  affected  him  !  It  was  like  an  emblem  of 
what  was  to  come  ;  rhe  light  had  been  the  only  evidence  of 
life  that  broke  u]3on  that  hour,  and  he  was  now  left  alone 
with  the  shades  of  night.  Was  not  this  like  the  herald  of 
Gertrude's  own  death  ;  the  extinction  of  the  only  living  ray 
that  broke  upon  the  darkness  of  the  world  ? 

His  anguish,  his  presentiment  of  utter  desolation  in- 
creased. He  groaned  aloud  :  he  dashed  his  clenched  hand 
to  his  breast — large  and  cold  drops  of  agony  stole  down  his 
brow.  "  Father,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  struggling  voice,  "  let 
this  cup  pass  from  me  !  Smite  my  ambition  to  the  root,  curse 
me  with  poverty,  shame,  and  bodily  cHsease  ;  but  leave  me 
this  one  solace,  this  one  companion  of  my  fate.  !  " 

At  this  moment  Gertrude's  window  opened  gently,  and  he 
heard  her  accents  steal  soothingly  upon  his  ear. 

"  Is  not  that  your  voice,  Albert  .<*  "  said  she.  softly.  "  I 
heard  it  just  as  I  laid  down  to  rest,  and  could  not  sleep  while 
you  were  thus  exposed  to  the  damp  night  air.  You  do  not 
answer ;  surely  it  is  your  voice  :  when  did  I  mistake  it  for 
another's  .''  " 

Mastering  with  a  violent  effort  his  emotions,  Trevylyan 
answered,  with  a  sort  of  convulsive  gayety — 

"  Why  come  to  these  shores,  dear  Gertrude,  unless  ycu 
are  honored  with  the  chivalry  that  belongs  to  them  .''  What 
wind,  what  blight,  can  harm  me  while  within  the  circle  of 
your  presence ;  and  what  sleep  can  bring  me  dreams  so  dear 
as  the  waking  thoughts  of  you  1 " 

"  It  is  cold,"  said  Gertrude,  shivering  ;  "  come  in,  dear 
Albert,  I  beseech  you,  and  I  will  thank  you  to-morrow." 
Gertrude's  voice  was  choked  by  the  hectic  cough,  that  went 
like  an  arrow  to  Trevylyan's  heart ;  and  he  felt  that  in  hei 


178  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

anxiety  for  him  she  was  now  exposing  her  own  frame  to  the 
unwholesome  night. 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  hurried  within  the  house;  and 
when  the  gray  Ught  of  morn  broke  upon  his  gloomy  features, 
haggard  from  the  want  of  sleep,  it  might  have  seemed,  in 
that  dim  eye  and  fast-sinking  cheek,  as  if  the  lovers  were  not 
to  be  divided — even  by  death  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


In  which  the  reader  will  learn  how  the  Fairies  were  received  by  the 
Sovereigns  of  the  Mines. — The  complaint  of  the  last  of  the  Fauns. — 
The  Red  Huntsman. — The  storm. — Death. 

In  the  deep  valley  of  Ehrenthal,  the  metal  kings — the 
Prince  of  the  Silver  Palaces,  the  Gnome  Monarch  of  the  dull 
Lead  Mine,  the  President  of  the  Copper  United  States,  held 
a  court  to  receive  the  fairy  wanderers  from  the  island  of 
Nonnewerth.  The  prince  was  there,  in  a  gallant  hunting- 
suit  of  oak-leaves,  in  honor  to  England  ;  and  wore  a  profu- 
sion of  fairy  orders,  which  had  been  instituted  from  time  to 
time  in  honor  of  the  human  poets  that  had  celebrated  the  spiri- 
tual and  ethereal  tribes.  Chief  of  these,  sweet  Dreamers  of  the 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  was  the  badge  crystallized  from 
the  dews  that  rose  above  the  whispering  reeds  of  Avon,  on 
the  night  of  thy  birth — the  great  epoch  of  the  intellectual 
world.  Nor  wert  thou,  O  beloved  MusEeus !  nor  thou,  dim- 
dreaming  Tieck  !  nor  were  ye,  the  wild  imaginer  of  the 
bright-haired  Undine,  and  the  wayward  spirit  that  invoked 
for  the  gloomy  Manfred  the  Witch  of  the  breathless  Alps, 
and  the  spirits  of  earth  and  air  ! — nor  were  ye  without  the 
honors  of  fairy  homage.  Your  memory  may  fade  from  the 
heart  of  man,  and  the  spells  of  new  enchanters  may  succeed 
to  the  charm  you  once  wove  over  the  face  of  the  common 
world ;  but  still  in  the  green  knolls  of  the  haunted  valley  and 
the  deep  shade  of  forests,  and  the  starred  palaces  of  air,  ye 
are  honored  by  the  beings  of  your  dreams,  as  demigods  and 
kings.  Your  graves  are  tended  by  invisible  hands,  and  the 
places  of  your  birth  are  hallowed  by  no  perishable  worship. 

Even  as  I  write,*  far  away  amidst  the  hills  of  Scotland, 

*  It  was  just  at  the  time  the  author  was  finishing  this  work  that  the 
great  master  of  his  art  was  drawing  to  the  close  of  his  career. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


179 


and  by  the  forest  thou  hast  clothed  with  immortal  verdure 
thou,  the  waker  of  "  the  Harp  by  lone  GlenfiUan's  spring," 
art  passing  from  the  earth  which  thou  hast  "  painted  with  de- 
light." And,  such  are  the  chances  of  mortal  fame,  our  chil- 
dren's children  may  raise  new  idols  on  the  site  of  thy  holy 
altar,  and  cavil  where  their  sires  adored;  but  for  thee  the 
mermaid  of  the  ocean  shall  wail  in  her  coral  caves,  and  the 
sprites  that  lives  in  the  waterfalls  shall  mourn.  Strange 
sliapes  shall  hew  thy  monument  in  the  recesses  of  the 
lonely  rocks  ;  ever  by  moonlight  shall  the  fairies  pause  from 
their  roundel  when  some  wild  note  of  their  minstrelsy  reminds 
them  of  thine  own  ; — ceasing  from  their  revelries  to  weep  for 
the  silence  of  that  mighty  lyre,  which  breathed  alike  a  reve- 
lation of  the  mysteries  of  spirits  and  of  men  ! 

The  Kins:  of  the  Silver  Mines  sat  in  a  cavern  in  the  val- 
ley,  through  which  the  moonlight  pierced  its  way  and  slept  in 
shadow  on  the  soil,  shining  with  metals  wrought  into  unnum- 
bered shapes ;  and  below  him,  on  a  humbler  throne,  with  a 
gray  beard  and  downcast  eye,  sat  the  aged  King  of  the 
Dwarfs  that  preside  over  the  dull  realms  of  lead,  and  inspire 

the  verse  of ,  and  the  prose  of .     And  there,  too,  a 

fantastic  household  elf  was  the  president  of  the  Copper  Re 
public — a  spirit  that  loves  economy  and  the  Uses,  and  smiles 
sparingly  on  the  Beautiful.  But,  in  the  centre  of  the  cave, 
upon  beds  of  the  softest  mosses,  the  untrodden  growth  of 
ages,  reclined  the  fairy  visitors — Nymphalin  seated  by  hei 
betrothed.  And  round  the  walls  of  the  cave  were  dwarf  at- 
tendants on  the  sovereigns  of  the  metals,  of  a  thousand  odd 
shapes  and  fantastic  garments.  On  the  abrupt  ledges  of  the 
rocks  the  bats,  charmed  to  stillness  but  not  sleep,  clustered 
thickly,  watching  the  scene  with  fixed  and  amazed  eyes  ;  and 
one  old  gray  owl,  the  favorite  of  the  witch  of  the  valley,  sat 
blinking  in  a  corner,  listening  with  all  her  might  that  she 
mi^ht  brins:  home  the  scandal  to  her  mistress. 

"  And  tell  me.  Prince  of  the  Rhine-Island  Fays,"  said 
the  King  of  the  Silver  Mines,  "  for  thou  art  a  traveller,  and 
a  fairy  that  hath  seen  much,  how  go  men's  affairs  in  the  upper 
world  ?  As  to  ourself  we  live  here  in  a  stupid  splendor,  and 
only  hear  the  news  of  the  day  when  our  brother  of  lead  pays 
a  visit  to  the  English  printing-press,  or  the  President  of  Cop- 
per goes  to  look  at  his  improvements  in  steam-engines." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Fayzenhim,  preparing  to  speak,  like 
^neas  in  the  Carthaginian  court  ;  "  indeed,  your  majesty,  I 
know  not  much  that  will  interest  you  in  the  present  aspect  of 


iSo  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

mortal  affairs,  except  that  you  are  quite  as  much  honored  at 
this  day  as  wlien  the  Roman  conqueror  bent  his  knee  to  3'ou 
among:  the  mountains  of  Taunus:  and  a  vast  number  of  little 
round  subjects  of  yours  are  constantly  carried  about  by  the 
rich,  and  pined  after  with  hopeless  adoration  by  the  poor. 
But,  begging  your  majesty's  pardon,  may  I  ask  what  has  be- 
come of  your  cousin,  the  King  of  the  Golden  Mines  ?  I  know 
very  well  that  he  has  no  dominion  in  these  valleys,  and  do 
not  therefore  wonder  at  his  absence  from  your  court  this, 
night ;  but  I  see  so  little  of  his  subjects  on  earth,  that  I 
should  fear  his  empire  was  well-nigh  at  an  end,  if  I  did  not 
recognize  everywhere  the  most  servile  homage  paid  so  a 
power  now  become  almost  invisible." 

The  King  of  the  Silver  Mines  fetched  a  deep  sigh,  "  Alas, 
prince,"  said  he,  "  too  well  do  you  divine  the  expiration  of 
my  cousin's  empire.  So  many  of  his  subjects  have  from  time 
to  time  gone  forth  to  the  world,  pressed  into  military  service 
and  never  returning,  that  his  kingdom  is  nearly  depopulated. 
And  he  lives  far  off  in  the  distant  parts  of  the  earth,  in  a 
state  of  melancholy  seclusion ;  the  age  of  gold  has  passed, 
the  age  of  paper  has  commenced." 

"  Paper,"  said  Nymphalin,  who  was  still  somewhat  of  a 
precieuse, — "  paper  is  a  wonderful  thing.  What  pretty  books 
the  human  people  write  upon  it  ! " 

"  Ah  !  that's  what  I  desire  to  convey,"  said  the  silver 
king.  "  It  is  the  age  less  of  paper  money  than  paper  govern- 
ment :  the  press  is  the  true  bank."  The  lord  treasurer  of 
the  English  fairies  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  word  "  bank." 
For  he  was  the  Attwood  of  the  fairies.  He  had  a  favorite 
plan  of  making  money  out  of  Bulrushes,  and  had  written  four 
large  bees'-wings  full  upon  the  true  nature  of  capital. 

While  they  were  thus  conversing,  a  sudden  sound,  as  of 
some  rustic  and  rude  music,  broke  along  the  air,  and  closing 
its  wild  burden,  they  heard  the  following  song. 

THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  LAST  FAUN. 

I. 

The  moon  on  the  Latmos  mountain 

Her  pining  vigil  keeps  ; 
And  ever  the  silver  fountain 

In  the  Doran  valley  weeps. 
But  gone  are  Endymion's  dreams  ; — 

And  the  crystal  lymph 

Bewails  the  nymph 
Whose  beauty  sleeked  the  streams  I 


THE  f/LGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  iSx 

II. 

Round  Arcady's  oak,  its  green 

The  Bromian  ivy  weaves  ; 
But  no  more  is  the  satyr  seen 

Laughing  out  from  the  glossy  leaves. 
Hushed  is  the  Lycian  lute, 

Still  grows  the  seed 

Of  the  AToenale  reed, 
But  the  pipe  of  Pan  is  mute  I 

III. 

The  leaves  in  the  noon-day  quiver  ;— 

The  vines  on  the  mountains  wave  ; — 
And  Tiber  rolls  his  river 

As  fresh  by  the  Sylvan's  cave  ; 
But  my  brothers  are  dead  and  gone  ; 

And  far  away 

From  their  graves  I  stray, 
And  dream  of  the  Past  alone  I 

IV. 

And  the  sun  of  the  north  is  chill ; — 

And  keen  is  the  northern  gale  ; 
Alas  for  the  song  on  the  Argive  hill; 

And  the  dance  in  the  Cretan  vale  I— 
The  youth  of  the  earth  is  o'er, 

And  its  breast  is  rife 

With  the  teeming  life 
Of  the  Golden  Tribes  no  more  1 

V. 

My  race  are  more  blest  than  T, 

Asleep  in  their  distant  bed ; 
'Twere  better,  be  sure,  to  die 

Than  to  mourn  for  the  buried  Dead  ;— 
To  rove  by  the  stranger  streams, 

At  dusk  and  dawn 

A  lonely  faun. 
The  last  of  the  Grecian's  dreams. 

As  the  song  ended,  a  shadow  crossed  the  moonlight  that 
,ay  white  and  lustrous  before  the  aperture  of  the  cavern  ;  and 
Nymphalin,  looking  up,  beheld  a  graceful,  yet  grotesque 
figure,  standing  on  the  sward  without,  and  gazing  on  the 
group  in  the  cave.  It  was  a  shaggy  form,  with  a  goat's  legs 
and  .ears  ;  but  the  rest  of  its  body,  and  the  height  of  the 
stature,  like  a  man's.  An  arch,  pleasant,  yet  malicious  smile 
played  about  its  lips ;  and  in  its  hand  it  held  the  pastoral 


J 82  "^^^^  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

pipe  of  which  poets  have  sung  ;  they  would  find  it  difficult  tc 
sing  to  it ! 

"  And  who  art  thou  ?  "  said  Fayzenheim,  with  the  aii  of  a 
hero. 

"  I  am  the  last  lingering  wanderer  of  the  race  which  the 
Romans  worshipped  :  hiiher  I  followed  their  victorious  steps, 
and  in  these  green  hollows  have  I  remained.  Sometimes  in 
the  still  noon,  when  the  leaves  of  spring  bud  upon  the  whis- 
pering woods,  I  peer  forth  from  my  rocky  lair,  and  startle 
the  peasant  with  my  strange  voice  and  stranger  shape.  Then 
goes  he  home,  and  puzzles  his  thick  brain  with  mops  and 
fancies,  till  at  length  he  imagines  me,  the  creature  of  the 
south !  one  of  his  northern  demons,  and  his  poets  adapt  the 
apparition  to  their  barbarous  lines." 

"  Ho  !  "  quoth  the  silver  king,  "  surely  thou  art  the  origin 
of  the  fabled  Satan  of  the  cowled  men  living  whilome  in  yon- 
der ruins,  with  its  horns  and  goatish  limbs  :  and  the  harmless 
faun  has  been  made  the  figuration  of  the  most  implacable  of 
fiends.  But  why,  O  wanderer  of  the  south  !  lingerest  thou 
in  these  foreign  dells  .-'  Why  returnest  thou  not  to  the  bi- 
forked  hilltop  of  old  Parnassus,  or  the  wastes  around  the 
yellow  course  of  the  Tiber }  " 

"  My  brethren  are  no  more,"  said  the  poor  faun  ;  "  and 
the  very  faith  that  left  us  sacred  and  unharmed  is  departed. 
But  here  all  the  spirits  not  of  mortality  are  still  honored  ; 
and  I  wander,  mourning  for  Silenus ;  though  amidst  the 
vines  that  should  console  me  for  his  loss." 

"  Thou  hast  known  great  beings  in  thy  day,"  said  the  leaden 
king,  who  loved  the  philosophy  of  a  truism  (  and  the  history 
of  whose  inspirations  I  shall  one  day  write). 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  faun,  "  my  birth  was  amidst  the 
treshness  of  the  world  when  the  flush  of  the  universal  life 
colored  all  things  with  divinity  ;  when  not  a  tree  but  had  its 
Dryad — not  a  fountain  that  was  without  its  Nymph.  I  sat 
by  the  gray  throne  of  Saturn,  in  his  old  age,  ere  yet  he  was 
discrowned  (for  he  was  no  visionary  ideal,  but  the  arch  mon- 
arch of  the  pastoral  age)  :  and  heard  from  his  lips  the  history 
of  the  world's  birth.  But  those  time  are  gone  for  ever — they 
have  left  harsh  successors." 

"  It  is  the  age  of  paper,"  muttered  the  lord  treasurer, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  What  ho,  for  a  dance  !  "  cried  Fayzenheim,  too  royal 
for  moralities,  and  he  whirled  the  beautiful  Nymphalin  into  a 
waltz.     Then  forth  issued  the  fairies,  and  out  went  the  dwarfs. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  183 

And  the  faun  leaning  against  an  aged  elm,  ere  yet  the  mid- 
night waned,  the  elves  danced  their  charmed  round  to  the 
antique  minstrelsy  of  his  pipe — the  minstrelsy  of  the  Grecian 
world  ! 

"  Hast  thou  seen  yet,  my  Nymphalin,"  said  Fayzenheim, 
in  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  "  the  recess  of  the  Hartz,  and  the 
red  form  of  its  mighty  hunter  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  fearful  sight,"  answered  Nymphalin  :  "  but  with 
thee  I  should  not  fear." 

"Away,  then,"  cried  Fayzenheim  ;  "  let  us  away  at  the 
first  cock-crow,  into  those  shaggy  dells,  for  there  is  no  need 
of  night  to  conceal  us,  and  the  unwitnessed  blush  of  morn,  or 
the  dreary  silence  of  noon,  is  no  less  than  the  moon's  reign, 
the  season  for  the  sports  of  the  superhuman  tribes." 

Nymphalin,  charmed  with  the  proposal,  readily  assented, 
and  at  the  last  hour  of  night,  bestriding  the  star-beams  of 
the  many-titled  Friga,  away  sped  the  fairy  cavalcade  to  the 
gloom  of  the  mystic  Hartz. 

Fain  would  I  relate  the  manner  of  their  arrival  in  the 
thick  recesses  of  the  forest ;  how  they  found  the  Red  Hunter 
seated  on  a  fallen  pine  beside  a  wide  chasm  in  the  earth,  with 
the  arching  boughs  of  the  wizard  oak  wreathing  above  his 
head  as  a  canopy,  and  his  bow  and  spear  lying  idle  at  his 
feet.  Fain  would  I  tell  of  the  reception  which  he  deigned 
to  the  fairies,  and  how  he  told  them  of  his  ancient  victories 
over  man;  how  he  chafed  at  the  gathering  invasions  of  his 
realm  ;  and  how  joyously  he  gloated  of  some  great  convul- 
sion *  in  the  northern  states,  which,  rapt  into  moody  reveries 
in  those  solitary  woods,  the  fierce  demon  broodingly  foresaw. 
All  these  fain  would  I  narrate,  but  they  are  not  of  the  Rhine, 
and  my  story  will  not  brook  the  delay.  While  thus  convers- 
ing with  the  fiend,  noon  had  crept  on,  and  the  sky  had  be- 
come overcast  and  lowering;  the  giant  trees  waved  gustily 
to  and  fro,  and  the  low  gatheridgs  of  the  thunder  announced 
the  approaching  storm.  Then  the  hunter  rose  and  stretched 
his  mighty  limbs,  and  seizing  his  spear,  he  strode  rapidly 
into  the  forest,  to  meet  the  thing  of  his  own  tribe  that  the 
tempest  awakes  from  their  rugged  lair. 

A  sudden  recollection  broke  upon  Nymphalin.  "  Alas 
alas  !  "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  ;  "  What  have  I  done  ' 
In  journeying  hither  with  thee,  I  have  forgotten  my  ofhce.  I 

*  Which  has  come  to  pass — 1849. 


184  "^liE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

have  neglected  my  watch  ovei  the  elements,  and  my  human 
charge  is  at  this  hour,  perhaps,  exposed  to  all  the  fury  of  the 
stonn." 

"  Cheer  thee,  my  Nymphalin,"  said  the  prince,  "  we  will 
lay  the  tempest ;  "  and  he  waved  his  sword  and  muttered 
the  charms  which  curb  the  winds  and  roll  back  the  marching 
thunder  :  but  for  once  the  tempest  ceased  not  at  his  spells  ; 
and  now,  as  the  fairies  sped  along  the  troubled  air,  a  pale 
and  beautiful  form  met  them  by  the  way,  and  the  fairies 
paused  and  trembled.  For  the  power  of  that  Shape  could 
vanquish  even  them.  It  was  the  form  of  a  female,  with 
golden  hair,  crowned  with  a  chaplet  of  withered  leaves  ;  hei 
bosoms,  of  an  exceeding  beauty,  lay  bare  to  the  wind,  and  an 
infant  was  clasped  between  them,  hushed  into  a  sleep  so 
still,  that  neither  the  roar  of  the  thunder,  nor  the  livid  light- 
ning flashing  from  cloud  to  cloud,  could  even  ruffle,  much 
less  arouse,  the  slumberer.  And  the  face  of  the  Female  was 
unutterably  calm  and  sweet  (though  with  a  something  of 
severe),  there  was  no  line  nor  wrinkle  in  her  hueless  brow ; 
care  never  wrote  its  defacing  characters  upon  that  everlasting 
beauty.  It  knew  no  sorrow  nor  change  ;  ghost-like  and 
shadowy  floated  on  that  Shape  through  the  abyss  of  Time, 
governing  the  world  with  an  unquestioned  and  noiseless 
sway.  And  the  children  of  the  green  solitudes  of  the  earth, 
the  lovely  fairies  of  my  tale,  shuddered  as  they  gazed  and 
recognized — the  form  of  Death  ! 


DEATH  VINDICATED. 

"  And  why,"  said  the  beautiful  Shape,  with  a  voice  soft 
as  the  last  sighs  of  a  dying  babe  ;  "  why  trouble  ye  the  air 
with  spells  }  mine  is  the  hour  and  the  empire,  and  the  storm 
is  the  creature  of  my  power.  Far  yonder  to  the  west  it 
sweeps  over  the  sea,  and  the  ship  ceases  to  vex  the  waves 
it  smites  the  forest,  and  the  destined  tree,  torn  from  its 
roots,  feels  the  winter  strip  the  gladness  from  its  boughs 
no  more  !  The  roar  of  the  elements  is  the  herald  of  eternal 
stillness  to  their  victims  ;  and  they  who  hear  the  progress  of 
my  power  idly  shudder  at  the  coming  of  peace.  And  ihou, 
O  tender  daughter  of  the  fairy  kings  !  why  grievest  thou  at  a 
mortal's  doom  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  sorrow  cometh  with 
years,  and  that  to  live  is  to  mourn  ?  Blessed  is  the  flower 
that,  nijiped  in  its  early  spring,  feels  not  tiic  blast  that  one 


TJIE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  185 

by  one  scatters  its  blossoms  around  it,  and  leaves  but  the 
bairen  stem.  Blessed  are  the  young  whom  I  clasp  to  my 
.breast,  and  lull  into  the  sleep  which  the  storm  cannot  break, 
nor  the  morrow  arouse  to  sorrow,  or  to  toil.  The  heart  that 
is  stilled  in  the  bloom  of  its  first  emotions, — that  turns  with 
its  last  throb  to  the  eye  of  love,  as  yet  unlearned  in  the  pos- 
sibility of  change, — has  exhausted  already  the  wine  of  life, 
and  is  saved  only  from  the  lees.  As  the  mother  soothes  to 
sleep  the  wail  of  her  troubled  child,  I  open  my  arms  to  the 
vexed  spirit,  and  my  bosom  cradles  the  unquiet  to  repose  !  " 
The  fairies  answered  not,  for  a  chill  and  a  fear  lay  over 
them,  and  the  Shape  glided  on  ;  ever  as  it  passed  away 
through  the  veiling  clouds  they  heard  its  low  voice  singing 
amidst  the  roar  of  the  storm,  as  the  dirge  of  the  watersprite 
over  the  vessel  it  hath  lured  into  the  whirlpool  or  the  shoals. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


Thurmberg. — A  storm  upon  the  Rhine. — The  ruins  of  Rheinfels. — Peril 
uhfelt  by  love. — Tiie  echo  of  the  Lurlei  berg. — St.  Goar. — Caub,  Gu- 
tenfels,  and  Pfalzgrafenstein. — A  certain  vastness  of  mind  in  the  first 
Hermits. — The  scenery  of  the  Rhine  to  Bacharach. 

Our  part)-  continued  their  voyage  the  next  day,  which 
was  less  bright  than  any  they  had  yet  experienced.  The 
clouds  swept  on  dull  and  heavy,  suffering  the  sun  only  to 
break  forth  at  scattered  intervals  ;  they  wound  round  the 
curving  bay  which  the  Rhine  forms  in  that  part  of  its  course  ; 
and  gazed  upon  the  ruins  of  Thurmberg  with  the  rich  gar- 
dens that  skirt  the  banks  below.  The  last  time  Trevylyan 
had  seen  those  ruins  soaring  against  the  sky,  the  green  foli- 
age at  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  and  the  quiet  village  sequestered 
beneath,  glassing  its  roofs  and  solitar)'  tower  upon  the  wave, 
it  had  been  with  a  gay  summer  troop  of  light  friends,  who  had 
paused  on  the  opposite  shore  during  the  heats  of  noon,  and 
over  wine  and  fruits,  and  mimicked  the  groups  of  Boccaccio, 
and  intermingled  the  lute,  the  jest,  the  momentary  love,  and 
the  laughing  tale. 

What  a  difference  now  in  his  thoughts — in  the  object  of 
the  voyage — in  his  present  companions  !  The  feet  of  years 
fall  noiseless  ;  we  heed,  we   note  them  not,  till  tracking  the 


1 86  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

same  course  we  passed  long  since,  we  are  startled  to  find  how 
deep  the  impression  they  leave  behind.  To  revisit  the  scenes 
of  our  youth  is  to  commune  with  the  ghost  of  ourselves. 

At  this  time  the  clouds  gathered  rapidly  along  the  hea- 
vens, and  they  were  startled  by  the  first  peal  of  the  thunder. 
Sudden  and  swift  came  on  the  storm,  and  Trevylyan  trembled 
as  he  covered  Gertrude's  form  with  the  rude  boat-cloaks  the)r 
had  brought  with  them  ;  the  small  vessel  began  to  rock 
wildly  to  and  fro  upon  the  waters.  High  above  them  rose 
the  vast  dismantled  Ruins  of  Rheinfels,  the  lightning  dart- 
ing through  its  shattered  casements,  and  broken  arches,  and 
brightening  the* gloomy  trees  that  here  and  there  clothed  the 
rocks,  and  tossed  to  the  angry  wind.  Swift  wheeled  the 
water-birds  over  the  river,  dipping  their  plumage  in  the  white 
foam,  and  uttering  their  discordant  screams.  A  storm  upon 
the  Rhine  has  a  grandeur  it  is  in  vain  to  paint.  Its  rocks, 
its  foliage,  the  feudal  ruins  that  everywhere  rise  from  the 
lofty  heights — speaking  in  characters  of  stern  decay  of  many 
a  former  battle  against  time  and  tempest ;  the  broad  and 
rapid  course  of  the  legendarj'  river,  all  harmonize  with  the 
elementary  strife  ;  and  you  feel  that  to  see  the  Rhine  only 
-W  the  sunshine  is  to  be  unconscious  of  its  most  majestic  as- 
pects. What  baronial  wars  had  those  ruins  witnessed  !  F/om 
the  rapine  of  the  lordly  tyrant  of  those  battlements  rose  the 
first  Confederation  of  the  Rhine — the  great  strife  between  the 
new  time  and  the  old — the  town  and  the  castle — the  citizen 
and  the  chief.  Gray  and  stern  those  ruins  breasted  the  storm 
— a  type  of  the  antique  opinion  which  once  manned  them  with 
armed  serfs  ;  and,  yet  in  ruins  and  decay,  appeals  from  the 
victorious  freedom  it  may  no  longer  resist ! 

Clasped  in  Trevylyan's  guardian  arms,  and  her  head 
pillowed  on  his  breast,  Gertrude  felt  nothing  of  the  storm 
save  its  grandeur ;  and  Trevylyan's  voice  whispered  cheer 
and  courage  to  her  ear.  She  answered  by  a  smile,  and  a 
sigh,  but  not  of  pain.  In  the  convulsions  of  nature  we  forget 
our  own  separate  existence,  our  schemes,  our  projects,  ou; 
fears  ;  our  dreams  vanish  back  into  their  cells.  One  passion 
only  the  storm  quells  not,  and  the  presence  of  Love  mingles 
with  the  voice  of  the  fiercest  storms  as  with  the  whispers  of 
th';  southern  wind.  So  she  felt,  as  they  were  thus  drawn 
close  together,  and  as  she  strove  to  smile  away  the  anxious 
terror  from  Trevylyan's  gaze — a  security,  a  delight ;  for  peril 
is  sweet  even  to  the  fears  of  woman,  when  it  impresses  upon 
her  yet  more  vividly  thirt  she  is  beloved. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  187 

"  A  moment  more  and  we  reach  the  land,"  murmured 
Trevylyan. 

"  I  wish  it  not,"  answered  Gertrude,  softly.  But  ere 
they  got  into  St.  Goar  the  rain  descended  in  torrents,  and 
even  the  thick  coverings  round  Gertrude's  form  were  not 
sufficient  protection  against  it.  Wet  and  dripping,  she  reached 
the  inn  ;  but  not  then,  nor  for  some  days,  was  she  sensible 
of  the  shock  Iicr  decaying  health  had  received. 

I'he  storm  lasted  but  a  few  hours,  and  the  sun  afterwards, 
broke  forth  so  brightly,  and  the  stream  looked  so  inviting, 
that  they  yielded  to  Gertrude's  earnest  wish,  and,  taking  a 
larger  vessel,  continued  their  course  :  they  passed  along  the 
narrow  and  dangerous  defile  of  the  Gewirre,  and  the  fearful 
whirlpool  of  the  "  Bank  ;  "  and  on  the  shore  to  the  left  the 
enormous  rock  of  Lurlei  rose,  huge  and  shapeless,  on  their 
gaze.  In  this  place  is  a  singular  echo,  and  one  of  the  boat- 
men wound  a  horn,  which  produced  an  almost  supernatural 
music — so  wild,  loud,  and  oft-reverberated,  was  its  sound. 

The  river  now  curved  along  in  a  narrow  and  deep  channel 
amongst  rugged  steeps,  on  which  the  westering  sun  cast  long 
and  uncouth  shadows  :  and  here  the  hermit,  from  whose 
sacred  name  the  town  of  St.  Goar  derived  its  own,  fixed  his 
abode  and  preached  the  religion  of  the  Cross.  "There  was 
a  certain  vastness  of  mind,"  said  Vane,  "  in  the  adoption  of 
utter  solitude,  in  which  the  first  enthasiasts  of  our  religion 
indulged.  The  remote  desert,  the  solitary  rock,  the  rude 
dwelling  hollowed  from  the  cave,  the  eternal  conunune  with 
their  own  hearts,  with  nature,  and  their  dreams  of  God,  all 
make  a  picture  of  severe-  and  preterhuman  grandeur.  Say 
what  we  will  of  the  necessity  and  charm  of  social  life,  there 
is  a  greatness  about  man  when  he  dispenses  with  mankind." 

"  As  to  that,"  said  Du e,  shrugging    his    shoulders, 

"  there  was  probably  very  good  wine  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  females'  eyes  about  Oberwesel  are  singularly 
blue." 

They  now  approached  Oberwesel,  another  of  the  once  im- 
perial towns,  and  behind  it  beheld  the  remains  of  the  castle  of 
the  illustrious  family  of  Schomberg ;  the  ancestors  of  the  old 
hero  of  the  Boyne.  A  little  further  on,  from  the  opposite 
shore,  the  castle  of  Gutenfels  rose  above  the  busy  town  of 
Kaub. 

"  Another  of  those  scenes,"  said  Trevylyan,  "  celebrated 
equally  by  love  and  glory,  for  the  castle's  name  is  derived 
from  that  of  the  beautiful  ladye  of  an  emperor's  passion  ;  and 


1 88  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

below,  upon  a  ridge  in  the  steep,   the  great  Gustavus  issued 
forth  his  command  to  begin  battle  with  the  Spaniards." 

"  It  looks  peaceful  enough  now,"  said  Vane,  pointing 
to  the  craft  that  lay  along  the  stream,  and  the  green  trees 
drooping  over  a  curve  in  the  bank.  Beyond,  in  the  middle 
of  the  stream  itself,  stands  the  lonely  castle  of  Pfalzgrafen- 
stein,  sadly  memorable  as  a  prison  to  the  more  distinguished 
of  criminals.  How  many  pining  eyes  may  have  turned  from 
those  casements  to  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the  free  shore  ;  how 
many  indignant  hearts  have  nursed  the  deep  curses  of  hate  in 
the  dungeons  below,  and  longed  for  the  wave  that  dashed 
against  the  gray  walls  to  force  its  way  within  and  set  them 
free  ! 

Here  the  Rhine  seems  utterly  bounded,  shrunk  into  one 
of  those  delusive  lakes  into  which  it  so  frequently  seems  to 
change  its  course  ;  and  as  you  proceed,  it  is  as  if  the  waters 
were  silently  overflowing  their  channel  and  forcing  their  way 
into  the  clefts  of  the  mountain  shore.  Passing  the  Werth 
Island  on  one  side,  and  the  castle  of  Stahleck  on  the  other, 
our  voyagers  arrived  at  Bacharach,  which,  associating  the 
feudal  recollections  with  the  classic,  takes  its  name  from  the 

god  of  the  vine  ;  and,  as  Du e    declared  with  peculiar 

emphasis,    quaffing  a  large  goblet   of   the   peculiar     liquor, 
"  richly  deserves  the  honor !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 


The  voyage  to  Bingen — The  simple  incidents  in  this  tale  excused — The 
situation  and  character  of  Gertrude — The  conversation  of  the  lovers 
in  the  Tcmi)le — A  fact  contradicted — Thoughts  occasioned  by  a  Mad- 
house amongst  the  most  beautiful  Landscapes  of  the  Rhine. 

The  next  day  they  again  resumed  their  voyage,  and  Ger- 
trude's spirits  were  more  cheerful  than  usual ;  the  air  seemed 
to  her  lighter,  and  she  breathed  with  a  less  painful  effort  ; 
once  more  hope  entered  the  breast  of  Trevylyan  ;  and,  as 
the  vessel  bounded  on,  their  conversation  was  steejDed  in  no 
sombre  hues.  When  Gertrude's  health  permitted,  no  temper 
was  so  ga}',  yet  so  gently  gay,  as  hers  ;  and  now  the  naivt 
sportiveness  of  her  remarks  called  a  smile  to  the  placid  lip  of 
Vane,  and  smoothed  the  anxious  front  of  Trevylyan  himself; 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  189 

as  for  Du c,  who  had  much  of  the  boon  companion  be- 
neath his  professional  gravity,  he  broke  out  every  now  and 
then  into  snatches  of  French  songs  and  drinking  glees,  which 
he  declared  were  the  results  of  the  air  of  Bacharach.  Thus 
conversing,  the  ruins  of  Furstenburg,  and  the  echoing  vale  of 
Rheindeibach,  glided  past  their  sail.  Then  the  old  town  of 
Lorch,  on  the  opposite  bank  (where  the  red  wine  is  said  first 
to  have  been  made),  with  the  green  island  before  it  in  the 
water.  Winding  round,  the  stream  showed  castle  upon  castle 
alike  in  ruins,  and  built  alike  upon  scarce  accessible  steeps. 
Then  came  the  chapel  of  St.  Clements,  and  the  opposing  vil- 
lage of  Asmannshausen  ;  the  lofty  Rossell,  built  at  the  ex 
tremest  verge  of  the  cliff ;  and  now  the  tower  of  Hatto,  cele- 
brated by  Southey's  ballad  ;  and  the  ancient  town  of  Bingen. 
Here  they  paused  awhile  from  their  voyage,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  visiting  more  minutely  the  Rheingau,  or  valley  of  the 
Rhine. 

It  must  occur  to  every  one  of  my  readers  that,  in  under- 
taking, as  now,  in  these  passages  in  the  history  of  Trevylyan, 
scarcely  so  much  a  tale  as  an  episode  in  real  life,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  offer  any  interest  save  of  the  most  simple  and  un- 
exciting kind.  It  is  true  that  to  Trevylyan  every  day,  every 
hour,  had  its  incident;  but  what  are  those  incidents  to 
others  ?  A  cloud  in  the  sky ;  a  smile  from  the  lip  of  Ger- 
trude ;  these  were  to  him  far  more  full  of  events  than  had 
been  the  most  varied  scenes  of  his  former  adventurous 
career  ;  but  the  history  of  the  heart  is  not  easily  translated 
into  language  :  and  the  world  will  not  readily  pause  from  its 
business  to  watch  the  alternations  in  the  cheek  of  a  dying  girl. 

In  the  immense  sum  of  human  existence,  what  is  a  single 
unit  ?  Every  sod  on  which  we  tread  is  the  grave  of  some 
former  being  :  yet  is  there  something  that  softens  without 
enervating  the  heart,  in  tracing  in  the  life  of  another  those 
emotions  that  all  of  us  have  known  ourselves.  For  who  is 
there  that  has  not,  in  his  progress  through  life,  felt  all  its 
ordinary  business  arrested,  and  the  varieties  of  fate  com- 
muted into  one  chronicle  of  the  affections  ?  Who  has  not 
watched  over  the  passing  away  of  some  being,  more  to  him, 
at  that  epoch,  than  all  the  world  ?  And  this  unit,  so  trivial 
to  the  calculation  of  others,  of  what  inestimable  value  was  it 
not  to  him  ?  Retracing  in  another  such  recollections,  shad- 
owed and  mellowed  down  by  time,  we  feel  the  wonderful 
sanctity  of  human  life,  we  feel  what  emotions  a  single  being 
can  awake  ;  what  a  world  of  hope  may  be  buried  in  a  single 


IQO 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


grave.  And  thus  we  keep  alive  within  ourselves  the  soft 
springs  of  that  morality  which  unites  us  with  our  kind,  and 
sheds  over  the  harsh  scenes  and  turbulent  contests  of  earth 
the  coloring  of  a  common  love. 

There  is  often,  too,  in  the  time  of  year  in  which  such 
thoughts  are  presented  to  us,  a  certain  harmony  with  the 
feelings  they  awaken.  As  I  write,  I  hear  the  last  sighs  oi 
the  departing  summer,  and  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf  is  visible 
in  the  green  of  nature.  But,  when  this  book  goes  forth  into 
the  world,  the  year  will  have  passed  through  a  deeper  cycle 
of  decay ;  and  the  first  melancholy  signs  of  winter  have 
breathed  into  the  Universal  Mmd  that  sadness  which  asso- 
ciates itself  readily  with  the  memory  of  friends,  of  feelings, 
that  are  no  more.  The  seasons,  like  ourselves,  track  their 
course,  by  something  of  beauty,  or  of  glory,  that  is  left  be- 
hind. As  the  traveller  in  the  land  of  Palestine  sees  tomb 
after  tomb  rise  before  him,  the  landmarks  of  his  way,  and 
the  only  signs  of  the  holiness  of  the  soil ;  thus  Memorj'  wan- 
ders over  the  most  sacred  spots  in  its  various  world,  and 
traces  them  but  by  the  graves  of  the  Past. 

It  was  now  that  Gertrude  began  to  feel  the  shock  her 
frame  had  received  in  the  storm  upon  the  Rhine.  Cold 
shiverings  frequently  seized  her  ;  her  cough  became  more 
hollow,  and  her  form  trembled  at  the  slightest  breeze. 

Vane  grew  seriously  alarmed ;  he  repented  that  he  had 
yielded  to  Gertrude's  wish  of  substituting  the  Rhine  for  the 
Tiber  or  the  Arno ;  and  would  even  now  have  hurried  across 

the   Alps  to  a  warmer  clime,  if  Du e  had  not  declared 

that  she  could  not  survive  the  journey,  and  that  her  sole 
chance  of  regaining  her  strength  was  rest.  Gertrude,  her- 
self, however,  in  the  continued  delusion  of  her  disease,  clung 
to  the  belief  of  recovery,  and  still  supported  the  hopes  of  her 
father,  and  soothed,  with  secret  talk  of  the  future,  the 
anguish  of  her  betrothed.  The  reader  may  remember  that, 
the  most  touching  passage  in  the  ancient  tragedians,  the 
most  pathetic  part  of  the  most  pathetic  of  human  poets — the 
pleading  speech  of  Iphigenia,  when  imploring  for  her  pro- 
longed life,  she  impresses  you  with  so  soft  a  picture  of  its 
innocence  and  its  beauty,  and  in  this  Gertrude  resembled  the 
Greek's  creation — that  she  felt,  on  the  verge  of  death,  all 
the  flush,  the  glow,  the  loveliness  of  life.  Her  youth  was 
filled  with  hope,  and  many-colored  dreams  ;  she  lov'ed,  and 
th(>  nues  of  morning  slept  upon  the  yet  disenchanted  earth. 
'Pile   ieavens  to  her  were  not  as  the  common  sky  ;  the  wave 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


191 


had  its  peculiar  music  to  her  ear,  and  the  rustling  leaves  a 
pleasantness  that  none,  whose  heart  is  not  bathed  in  the  love 
and  sense  of  beauty,  could  discern.  Therefore  it  was,  in 
future  years,  a  thought  of  deep  gratitude  to  Trevylyan  that 
she  was  so  little  sensible  of  her  danger ;  that  the  landscape 
caught  not  the  gloom  of  the  grave  ;  and  that,  in  the  Greek 
phrase,  "  death  found  her  sleeping  amongst  flowers." 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days,  another  of  those  sudden  turns, 
common  to  her  malady,  occurred  in  Gertrude's  health  ;  her 
youth  and  her  happiness  rallied  against  the  encroaching 
tyrant,  and  for  the  ensuing  fortnight  she  seemed  once  more 
within  the  bounds  of  hope.  During  this  time  they  made 
several  excursions  into  the  Rheingau,  and  finished  their  tour 
at  the  ancient  Heidelberg. 

One  morning,  in  these  excursions,  after  threading  the 
wood  of  Neiderwald,  they  gained  that  small  and  fairy  temple, 
which,  hanging  lightly  over  the  mountain's  brow,  commands 
one  of  the  noblest  landscapes  of  earth.  There,  seated  side 
by  side,  the  lovers  looked  over  the  beautiful  world  below: 
far  to  the  left  lay  the  happy  islets,  in  the  embrace  of  the 
Rhine,  as  it  wound  along  the  low  and  curving  meadows  that 
stretch  away  towards  Neider  Ingelheim  and  Mayence.  Glist- 
ening in  the  distance,  the  opposite  Nah  swept  by  the  Mause 
tower,  and  the  ruins  of  Klopp,  crowning  the  ancient  Bingen, 
into  the  mother  tide.  There,  on  either  side  the  town,  were 
the  mountains  of  St.  Roch  and  Rupert,  with  some  old  monas- 
tic ruin,  saddening  in  the  sun.  But  nearer,  below  the  tem- 
ple, contrasting  all  the  other  features  of  landscape,  yawned  a 
dark  and  rugged  gulf,  girt  by  cragged  elms  and  mouldering 
lowers,  the  very  prototype  of  the  abyss  of  time — black  and 
fathomless  amidst  ruin  and  desolation. 

"I  think,  sometimes,"  said  Gertrude,  "as  in  scenes  like 
these,  we  sit  together,  and,  rapt  from  the  actual  world,  see 
only  the  enchantment  the  distance  lends  to  our  view — I  think 
sometimes,  what  pleasure  it  will  be  hereafter  to  recall  these 
hours.  If  ever  you  should  love  me  less,  I  need  only  to 
whisper  to  you,  '  The  Rhine,'  and  will  not  all  the  feelings  you 
have  now  for  me  return  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  there  will  never  be  occasion  to  recall  my  love  for 
you  :  it  can  never  decay." 

"  What  a  strange  thing  is  life  !  "  said  Gertrude  ;  "  how 
unconnected,  how  desultory  seem  all  its  links  !  Has  this 
sweet  pause  from  trouble,  from  the  ordinary  cares  of  life — 
has  it  anything  in  common  with   your  past  career — with  youi 


192 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


future  ?  You  will  go  into  the  great  world  ;  in  a  few  years 
hence  these  moments  of  leisure  and  musing  will  be  denied 
to  you;  the  action  that  you  love  and  court  is  a  jealous 
sphere  ;  it  allows  no  wandering,  no  repose.  These  moments 
will  then  seem  to  you  but  as  yonder  islands  that  stud  the- 
Rhine — the  stream  lingers  by  them  for  a  moment,  and  then 
hurries  on  in  its  rapid  course  ;  they  vary,  but  they  do  not  in- 
terrupt the  tide." 

"  You  are  fanciful,  my  Gertrude ;  but  your  simile  might 
be  juster.  Rather  let  these  banks  be  as  our  lives,  and  this 
river  the  one  thought  that  flows  eterally  by  both,  blessing 
each  with  undying  freshness." 

Gertrude  smiled  ;  and,  as  Trevylyan's  arm  encircled  her, 
she  sank  her  beautiful  face  upon  his  bosom,  he  covered  it  with 
his  kisses,  and  she  thought  at  the  moment,  that,  even  had 
she  passed  death,  that  embrace  could  have  recalled  her  to  life, 

They  pursued  their  course  to  Mayence,  partly  by  land, 
partly  along  the  river.  One  day,  as  returning  to  the  vine- 
clad  mountains  of  Johannisberg,  which  commands  the  whole 
of  the  Rheingau,  the  most  beautiful  valley  in  the  world,  they 
proceeded  by  water  to  the  town  of  EUfeld,  Gertrude  said  : — 

"  There  is  a  thought  in  your  favorite  poet  which  you  have 
often  repeated,  and  which  I  cannot  think  true, — 

*  In  nature  there  is  nothing  melancholy.' 

To  me  it  seems  as  if  a  certain  melancholy  were  inseparable 
from  beauty  ;  in  the  sunniest  noon  there  is  a  sense  of  solitude 
and  stillness  which  pervades  the  landscape,  and  even  in  the 
flush  of  life  inspires  us  with  a  musing  and  tender  sadness. 
Why  is  this  ?  " 

"I  .cannot  tell,"  said  Trevylyan,  mournfully;  "but  I 
allow  that  it  is  true." 

"  It  is  as  if,"  continued  the  romantic  Gertrude,  "  the 
spirit  of  the  world  spoke  to  us  in  silence,  and  filled  us  with  a 
sense  of  our  mortality — a  whisper  from  the  religion  that  be- 
longs to  nature,  and  is  ever  seeking  to  unite  the  earth  with 
the  reminiscences  of  heaven.  Ah,  what  without  a  heaven 
would  be  even  love  ! — a  perpetual  terror  of  the  separation 
that  must  one  day  come  !  If,"  she  resumed,  solemnly,  after 
a  momentary  pause,  and  a  shadow  settled  on  her  young  face, 
"if  it  be  true,  Albert,  that  I  must  leave  you  soon " 

"  It  cannot — it  cannot!"  cried  Trevylyan,  wildly;  "be 
still,  be  silent,  I  beseech  you." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


193 


"  Look  yonder,"  said  Du e,   breaking  seasonably  in 

upon  the  conversation  of  the  lovers  ;  "  on  that  hill  to  ilie 
left,  what  once  was  an  abbey,  is  now  an  asylum  for  the  in- 
sane. Does  it  not  seem  a  quiet  and  serene  abode  for  the 
unstrung  and  erring  minds  that  tenant  it?  What  a  mystery 
is  there  in  our  conformation  ! — those  strange  and  bewildered 
fancies  which  replace  our  solid  reason,  what  a  moral  of  our 
human  weakness  do  they  breathe  !  " 

It  does  indeed  induce  a  dark  and  singular  train  of 
thought,  when,  in  the  midst  of  these  lovely  scenes,  we  chance 
upon  this  lone  retreat  for  those  on  whose  eyes  Nature,  per- 
haps, smiles  in  vain.  Or  is  it  in  vain  ?  They  look  down  upon 
the  broad  Rhine,  with  its  tranquil  isles  ;  do  their  wild  illusions 
endow  the  river  with  another  name,  and  people  the  valleys 
with  no  living  shapes  ?  Does  the  broken  mirror  within  re- 
flect back  the  countenance  of  real  things,  or  shadows  and 
shapes,  crossed,  mingled,  and  bewildered, — the  phantasmaof 
a  sick  man's  dreams?  Yet,  perchance,  one  memory  unscathed 
by  the  general  ruins  of  the  brain,  can  make  even  the  beauti- 
ful Rhine  more  beautiful  than  it  is  to  the  common  eye  ; — can 
calm  it  with  the  hues  of  departed  love,  and  bid  its  possessor 
walk  over  its  vine-clad  mountains  with  the  beings  that  have 
ceased  to  be  /  There,  perhaps,  the  self-made  monarch  sits 
upon  his  throne  and  claims  the  vessels  as  his  fleet,  the  waves 
and  the  valleys  as  his  own.  There  the  enthusiast,  blasted  by 
the  light  of  some  imaginary  creed,  beholds  the  shapes  of 
angels,  and  watches  in  the  clouds  round  the  setting  sun,  the 
pavilions  of  God.  There  the  victim  of  forsaken  or  perished 
love,  mightier  than  the  sorcerers  of  old,  evokes  the  dead,  or 
recalls  the  faithless  by  the  philtre  of  undying  fancies.  Ah, 
blessed  art  thou,  the  winged  power  of  Imagination  that  is 
within  us  ! — conquering  even  grief — brightening  even  despair. 
Thou  takest  us  from  the  world  when  reason  can  no  longer 
bind  us  to  it,  and  givest  to  the  maniac  the  inspiration  and  the 
solace  of  the  bard.  Thou,  the  parent  of  the  purer  love,  ling- 
erest  like  love,  when  even  ourself  forsakes  us,  and  lightest 
up  the  shattered  chambers  of  the  heart  with  the  glory  thai 
makes  a  sanctity  of  decay. 


194  ^'^■^^"  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Ellfeld. — Mayence. — Heidelberg — A  conversation  between  Vane  and 
the  German  Student, — The  Ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Heidelberg  and 
its  solitary  Habitant. 

It  was  now  the  full  moon  ;  light  clouds  were  bearing  up 
towards  the  opposite  banks  of  the  Rhine,  but  over  the  Gothic 
towers  of  Ellfeld  the  sky  spread  blue  and  clear ;  the  river 
danced  beside  the  old  gray  walls  with  a  sunny  wave,  and  close 
at  hand  a  vessel  crowded  with  passengers,  and  loud  with 
eager  voices,  gave  a  merry  life  to  the  scene. 

On  the  opposite  bank  the  hills  sloped  away  into  the  far 
horizon,  and  one  slight  skiff  in  the  midst  of  the  waters  broke 
the  solitary  brightness  of  the  noonday  calm. 

The  town  of  Ellfeld  was  the  gift  of  Otho  the  First  to  the 
Church  ;  not  far  from  thence  is  the  crystal  spring  that  gives 
its  name  to  the  delicious  grape  of  Markbrunner. 

"  Ah  !  "  quoth  Du e,  "  doubtless  the  good  bishops  of 

Mayence  made  the  best  of  the  vicinity  !  " 

They  stayed  some  little  time  at  this  town,  and  visited  the 
ruins  of  Scharfenstine  ;  thence  proceeding  up  the  river,  they 
passed  Nieder  Walluf,  called  the  Gate  of  the  Rheingau,  and 
the  luxuriant  garden  of  Schierstein  ;  thence,  sailing  by  the 
castle-seat  of  the  Prince  Nassau  Usingen,  and  passing  two 
long  and  narrow  isles,  they  arrived  at  Mayence,  as  the  sun 
shot  his  last  rays  upon  the  water,  gilding  the  proud  cathedral- 
spire,  and  breaking  the  mist  that  began  to  gather  behind, 
over  the  rocks  of  the  Rheingau. 

Ever-memorable  Mavence  ! — memorable  alike  for  freedom 
and  for  song — within  those  walls  how  often  woke  the  gallant 
music  of  the  Troubadour  ;  and  how  often  beside  that  river 
did  the  heart  of  the  maiden  tremble  to  the  lay  I  Within  those 
walls  the  stout  Walpoden  first  broached  the  great  scheme  of 
the  Hanseatic  league ;  and  more  than  all,  O  memorable 
Mayence,  thou  canst  claim  the  first  invention  of  the  might- 
iest engine  of  human  intellect, — the  great  leveller  of  power, 
— th-j  Demiurgus  of  the  moral  world, — the  press  !  Here  too 
lived  the  maligned  hd'ro  of  the  greatest  drama  of  modern  genius, 
the  traditionary  Faust,  illustrating  in  himself  the  fate  of  his 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


195 


successoK^  in  dispensing  knowledge — held  a  monster  for  his 
wisdom,  and  consigned  to  the  penalties  of  hell  as  a  recompense 
for  the  benefits  he  had  conferred  on  earth  ! 

At  Mayence,  Gertrude  heard  so  much  and  so  constantly 
of  Heidelberg,  that  she  grew  impatient  to  visit  that  enchant- 
ing town;  and  as  Du e  considered  the  air  of  Heidelberg 

more  pure  and  invigorating  than  that  of  Mayence,  they  re- 
solved to  fix  within  it  their  temporary  residence.  Alas  !  it  was 
the  place  destined  to  close  their  brief  and  melancholy  pil- 
grimage, and  to  become  to  the  heart  of  Trevylyan  the  holiest 
spot  which  the  earth  contained  ; — the  Kaaba  of  the  world. 
But  Gertrude,  unconscious  of  her  fate,  conversed  gayly  as 
their  carriage  rolled  rapidly  on,  and  constantly  alive  to  every 
new  sensation,  she  touched  with  her  characteristic  vivacity  on 
all  they  had  seen  in  their  previous  route.  There  is  a  great 
charm  in  the  observations  of  one  new  to  the  world,  if  we  our- 
selves have  become  somewhat  tired  of  "  its  hack  sights  and 
sounds  ;  "  we  hear  in  their  freshness  a  voice  from  our  own 
youth. 

In  the  haunted  valley  of  the  Necker,  the  most  crystal  of 
rivers,  stands  the  town  of  Heidelberg.  The  shades  of  even- 
ing gathered  round  it  as  their  heavy  carriage  rattled  along 
the  antique  streets,  and  not  till  the  next  day  was  Gertrude 
aware  of  all  the  unriv^alled  beauties  that  environ  the  place. 

Vane,  who  was  an  early  riser,  went  forth  alone  in  the 
morning  to  reconnoitre  the  town  ;  and  as  he  was  gazing  on 
the  tower  of  St.  Peter,  he  heard  himself  suddenly  accosted  ; 
he  turned  round  and  saw  the  German  student,  whom  they 
had  met  among  the  mountains  of  Taunus,  at  his  elbow. 

"  Monsieur  has  chosen  well  in  coming  hither,"  said  the 
student ;  "  and  I  trust  our  town  will  not  disappoint  his  expec- 
tations." 

Vane  answered  with  courtesy,  and  the  German  offering 
to  accompany  him  in  his  walk,  their  conversation  fell  natu- 
rally on  the  life  of  a  university,  and  the  current  education  of 
the  German  people. 

"  It  is  surprising,"  said  the  student,  "  that  men  are  eter- 
nally inventing  new  systems  of  education,  and  yet  persevering 
in  the  old.  How  many  years  ago  is  it  since  Fichte  predicted, 
in  the  system  of  Pestalozzi,  the  regeneration  of  the  German 
people?  What  has  it  done  ?  We  admire — we  praise,  and  we 
blunder  on  in  the  very  course  Pestalozzi  proves  to  be  erron- 
eous. Certainly,"  continued  the  student,  "  there  must  be 
some  radical  defect  in  a  system  of  culture  in  which  genius  is 


ig6  THE  PTLGRIAIS  OF  THE  RlIfXE. 

an  exception,  and  dulness  the  result.  Yet  here,  \\\  our  Ger- 
man universities,  everything  proves  that  education  without 
equitable  institutions  avails  little  in  the  general  formation  of 
character.  Here  the  young  men  of  the  colleges  mix  on  the 
most  equal  terms  ;  they  are  daring,  romantic,  enamoured  of 
freedom  even  to  its  madness  ;  they  leave  the  university,  no 
poll  ileal  career  continues  the  train  of  mind  they  had  acquired  ; 
they  plunge  into  obscurity  ;  live  scattered  and  separate,  and 
the  student  inebriated  with  Schiller,  sinks  into  the  passive 
priest  or  the  lethargic  baron.  His  college  career,  so  far 
from  indicating  his  future  life,  exactly  reverses  it :  he  is 
brought  up  in  one  course  in  order  to  proceed  in  another. 
And  this  I  hold  to  be  the  universal  error  of  education  in  all 
countries  ;  they  conceive  it  a  certain  something  to  be  fm 
ished  at  a  certain  age.  They  do  not  made  it  a  part  of  the 
continuous  history  of  life,  but  a  wandering  from  it." 

"  You  have  been  in  England  ?''  asked  Vane. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  travelled  over  nearly  the  whole  of  it  on 
foot.  I  was  poor  at  that  time,  and  imagining  that  there  was 
a  sort  of  masonry  between  all  men  of  letters,  I  inquired  at 
each  town  for  the  savans,  and  asked  money  of  them  as  a  ma:- 
ter  of  course." 

Vane  almost  laughed  outright  at  the  simplicity  and  naive 
unconsciousness  of  degradation  with  which  the  student  pro- 
claimed himself  a  public  beggar. 

"  And  how  did  you  generally  succeed  ?  " 

"  In  most  cases  I  was  threatened  with  the  stocks,  and 
twice  I  was  consigned  by  t\i&  J iige de pa ixio  the  village  police, 
to  be  passed  to  some  mystic  Mecca  they  were  pleased  to  en- 
title '  a  parish.'  Ah  !  "  (continued  the  German  with  much 
bonhomie),  "  It  was  a  pity  to  see  in  a  great  nation  so  much 
value  attached  to  such  a  trifle  as  money.  But  what  sur- 
prised me  greatly  was  the  tone  of  your  poetry.  Madame  de 
Stael,  who  knew  perhaps  as  much  of  England  as  she  did  of 
Germany,  tells  us  that  its  chief  character  is  the  cJiivalresqiie ; 
and  excepting  only  Scott,  who,  by  the  way,  is  not  English,  I 
did  not  find  one  chivalrous  poet  among  you.  Yet,"  continued 
the  student,  "  between  ourselves,  I  fancy  that  in  our  present 
age  of  civilization,  there  is  an  unexamined  mistake  in  the 
general  mind  as  to  the  value  of  poetry.  It  delights  still  as 
ever,  but  it  has  ceased  to  teach.  The  prose  of  the  heart  en- 
lightens, touches,  rouses,  far  more  than  poetr)'.  Your  most 
philosophical  poets  would  be  commonplace  if  turned  into 
prose.     Verse    cannot  contain    the   refining  subtle  thoughts 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE,  197 

whicli  a  great  prose  writer  embodies  ;  the  rhyme  eternally 
cripples  it ;  it  properly  deals  with  the  common  problems  of 
human  nature  vvhich  are  now  hackneyed,  and  not  with  the 
nice  and  philosophizing  corollaries  which  may  be  drawn  from 
them.  Thus,  though  it  would  seem  at  first  a  paradox,  com- 
monplace is  more  the  element  of  poetry  than  of  prose." 

This  sentiment  charmed  Vane,  who  had  nothing  of  the 
poet  about  him  ;  and  he  took  the  student  to  share  their  break- 
fast at  the  inn,  with  a  complacency  he  rarely  experienced  at 
the  re-meeting  with  a  new  acquaintance. 

After  breakfast,  our  party  proceeded  through  the  town 
towards  the  wonderful  castle  which  is  its  chief  attraction, and 
the  noblest  wreck  of  German  grandeur. 

And  now  pausing,  the  mountain  yet  unsealed,  the  stately 
ruin  frowned  upon  them,  girt  by  its  massive  walls  and  hang- 
ing terraces,  round  vvhich  from  place  to  place  clung  the 
dwarfed  and  various  foliage.  High  at  the  rear  rose  the  huge 
mountain,  covered,  save  at  its  extreme  summit,  with  dark 
trees,  and  concealing  in  its  mysterious  breast  the  shadowy 
beings  of  the  legendary  world.  But  towards  the  ruins,  and 
up  a  steep  ascent,  you  may  see  a  few  scattered  sheep  thinly 
studding  the  broken  ground.  Aloft,  above  the  ramparts,  rose, 
desolate  and  huge, the  Palace  of  the  Electors  of  the  Palatinate. 
In  its  broken  walls  you  may  trace  the  tokens  of  the  lightning 
that  blasted  its  ancient  pomp,  but  still  leaves  in  the  vast  extent 
of  pile  a  fitting  monument  of  the  memory  of  Charlemagne. 
Below,  in  the  distance,  spread  the  plain  far  and  spacious,  till 
the  shadowy  river,  with  one  solitary  sail  upon  its  breast, 
united  the  melancholy  scene  of  earth  with  the  autumnal  sky. 

"  See,"  said  Vane,  pointing  to  two  peasants  who  were 
conversing  near  them  on  the  matters  of  their  little  trade, 
utterly  unconscious  of  the  associations  of  th'^  spot,  "  see, 
after  all  that  is  said  and  done  about  human  greatness,  it 
is  always  the  greatness  of  the  few.  Ages  pass,  and  leave  the 
poor  herd,  the  mass  of  men,  eternally  the  same — hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water.  The  pomp  of  princes  has  its 
ebb  and  flow,  but  the  peasant  sells  his  fruit  as  gayly  to  the 
stranger  on  the  ruins,  as  to  the  emperor  in  the  palace." 

"  Will  it  be  always  so  ?  "  said  the  student. 

"  Let  us  hope  not,  for  the  sake  of  permanence  in  glory," 
said  Trev^lyan  ;  "  had  a  people  built  yonder  palace,  its  splen- 
dor would  never  have  passed  away." 

Vane  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Du e  took  snuff. 

But  all  the  impressions  produced  by  the  castle  at  a  dis- 


198 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


tance,  are  as  nothing  when  you  stand  withhi  its  vast  area 
and  behold  the  architecture  of  all  ages  blended  into  one 
mighty  ruin  !  The  rich  hues  of  the  masonry,  the  sweeping  fa 
cades — every  description  of  building  which  man  ever  framed 
for  war  or  for  luxury — is  here  ;  all  having  only  the  common 
character — ruin.  The  feudal  rampart,  the  3'awning  fosse, 
the  rude  tower,  the  splendid  arch, — the  strength  of  a  fortress, 
the  magnificence  of  a  palace, — all  united,  strike  upon  ,he  soul 
like  the  history  of  a  fallen  empire  in  all  its  epochs. 

"  There  is  one  singular  habitant  of  these  ruins,"  said  the 
student ;  "  a  solitary  painter,  who  has  dwelt  here  some  twenty 
years,  companioned  only  by  his  Art.  No  other  apartment 
but  that  which  he  tenants  is  occupied  by  a  human  being." 

"  What  a  poetical  existence  !  "  cried  Gertrude,  enchanted 
with  a  solitude  so  full  of  associations. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  cruel  Vane,  ever  anxious  to  dispel 
an  illusion  ;  "  but  more  probably  custom  has  deadened  to 
him  all  that  overpowers  ourselves  with  awe  ;  and  he  may 
tread  among  these  ruins  rather  seeking  to  pick  up  some  rude 
morsel  of  antiquity,  than  feeding  his  imagination  with  the 
dim  traditions  that  invest  them  with  so  august  a  poetry." 

"  Monsieur's  conjecture  has  something  of  the  truth  in  it," 
said  the  German  :  "  but  then  the  painter  is  a  Frenchman." 

There  is  a  sense  of  fatality  in  the  singular  mournfulness 
and  majesty  which  belongs  to  the  ruins  of  Heidelberg  ;  con- 
trasting the  vastness  of  the  strength  with  the  utterness  of  the 
ruin.  It  has  been  twice  struck  with  lightning,  and  is  the 
wreck  of  the  elements,  not  of  man  :  during  the  great  siege  it 
sustained,  the  lightning  is  supposed  to  have  struck  the  pow 
der-magazine  by  accident. 

What  a  scene  for  some  great  imaginative  work  !  What  a 
mocking  interference  of  the  wrath  of  nature  in  the  puny  con- 
tests of  men  !  One  stroke  of  the  "  red  right  arm  "  above  us, 
crushing  the  triumph  of  ages,  and  laughing  to  scorn  the  powei 
of  the  beleaguerers  and  the  valor  of  the  beseiged  ! 

They  passed  the  whole  day  among  these  stupendous  ruins, 
and  felt,  when  they  descended  to  their  inn,  as  if  they  had  left 
the  caverns  of  some  mighty  tomb. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KHIXE. 


199 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

No  part  of  the  Earth  really  solitary. — The  song  of  the  Fairies. — The  sa- 
cred spot. — The  Witch  of  the  Evil  Winds. — The  Spell  and  ihe  dutj  -A 

the  Fairies. 

But  in  what  spot  of  the  world  is  there  ever  utter  soli- 
tude .''  The  vanity  of  man  supposes  that  loneliness  is  his  ab- 
sence ?  Who  shall  say  what  millions  of  spiritual  beings  glide 
invisibly  among  scenes  apparently  the  most  deserted  ?  Or 
what  know  we  of  our  own  mechanism,  that  we  should  deny 
the  possibility  of  life  and  motion  to  things  that  we  cannot 
ourselves  recognize  ? 

At  moonlight,  in  the  Great  Court  of  Heidelberg,  on  the 
borders  of  the  shattered  basin  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  fol- 
lowing song  was  heard  by  the  melancholy  shades  that  roam 
at  night  through  the  mouldering  halls  of  old,  and  the  gloomy 
hollows  in  the  mountains  of  Heidelberg. 

SONG  OF  THE  FAIRIES  IN  THE  RUINS  OF  HEIDELBERG. 

From  the  woods  and  the  glossy  green, 

With  the  wild  thyme  strewn  ; 
From  the  rivers  whose  crisped  sheen 

Is  kissed  by  tiie  trembling  moon; — 
While  the  dwarf  looks  out  from  his  mountain  cave, 

And  the  erl  king  from  his  lair. 
And  the  water-nymph  from  her  moaning  wave, — 

We  skir  the  limber  air. 
There's  a  smile  on  the  vine-clad  shore, 

A  smile  on  the  castled  heights  ; 
They  dream  back  the  days  of  yore, 

And  they  smile  at  our  roundel  rites  I 

Our  roundel  rites  I 

Lightly  we  tread  these  halls  around, 

Lightly  tread  we  ; 
Yet,  hark  !  we  have  scared  with  a  single  sound 
The  moping  owl  on  the  breathless  tree, 

And  the  goblin  sprites  I 
■    Ha  !  ha  I  we  have  scared  with  a  single  sound 
The  old  gray  owl  on  the  breathless  tree 

And  the  goblin  sprites  ! 

"  They  come  not,"  said  Pipalee  ;  "  yet  the  banquet  is  pre- 
pared, and  the  poor  queen  will  be  glad  of  some  refreshment." 


200  l^f^E  riLGRTMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"  What  a  pity !  all  the  rose-leaves  will  be  over-broiled  " 
said  Nip. 

"  Let  us  amuse  ourselves  with  the  old  painter,"  quoth 
Trip,  springing  over  the  ruins. 

"  Well  said,"  cried  Pipalee  and  Nip  :  and  all  three,  leav- 
ing my  lord-treasurer  amazed  at  their  levity,  whisked  into  the 
painter's  apartment.  Permitting  them  to  throw  the  ink  over 
their  victim's  papers,  break  his  pencils,  mix  his  colors,  mislay 
his  night-cap,  and  go  whiz  against  his  face  in  the  shape  of  a 
great  bat,  till  the  astonished  Frenchman  began  to  think  the 
pensive  goblins  of  the  place  had  taken  a  sprightly  fit, — we 
hasten  to  a  small  green  spot  some  little  way  from  the  town, 
in  the  valley  of  the  Neckar,  and  by  the  banks  of  its  silver 
stream.  It  was  circled  round  by  dark  trees,  save  on  that  side 
bordered  by  the  river.  The  wild  flowers  sprang  profusely 
from  the  turf  which  yet  was  smooth  and  singularly  green. 
And  there  was  the  German  fairy  describing  a  circle  round 
the  spot,  and  making  his  elvish  spells.  And  Nymphalin  sat 
droopingly  in  the  centre,  shading  her  face,  which  was  bowed 
down  as  the  head  of  a  water-lily,  and  weeping  crystal  tears. 

There  came  a  hollow  murmur  through  the  trees,  and  a 
rush  as  of  a  mighty  wind,  and  a  dark  form  emerged  from  the 
shadow  and  approached  the  spot. 

The  face  was  wrinkled  and  old,  and  stern  with  a  malev- 
olent and  evil  aspect.  The  frame  was  lean  and  gaunt,  and 
supported  by  a  staff,  and  a  short  gray  mantle  covered  its 
bended  shoulders. 

"Things  of  the  moonbeam  !"  said  the  form,  in  a  shrill 
and  ghastly  voice  ;  "  what  want  ye  here  ?  and  why  charm  ye 
this  spot  from  the  coming  of  me  and  mine  .''  " 

"  Dark  witch  of  the  blight  and  blast,"  answered  the  fairy, 
"  THOU  that  nippest  the  herb  in  its  tender  youth,  and  eatest 
up  the  core  of  the  soft  bud  ;  behold,  it  is  but  a  small  spot 
that  the  fairies  claim  from  thy  demesnes,  and  on  which, 
through  frost  and  heat,  they  will  keep  the  herbage  green 
and  the  air  gentle  in  its  sighs  !  " 

"  And  wherefore,  O  dweller  in  the  crevices  of  the  earth  ! 
wherefore  wouldst  thou  guard  this  spot  from  the  curses  of 
the  season  ? " 

"  We  know  by  our  instinct,"  answered  the  fairy,  "  that 
this  spot  will  become  the  grave  of  one  whom  the  fairies  love  ; 
hither,  by  an  unfelf  influence,  shall  we  guide  her  yet  living 
steps ;  and  in  gazing  upon  this  spot  shall  the  desire  of  quiet 
and  the  resignation  to  death  steal  upon  her  soul.     Behold, 


THE  r/LGR/MS  OF  THE  KI/IA'E.  2  01 

throughout  the  universe,  all  things  at  war  with  one  another ; 
— the  lion  with  the  lamb;  the  serpent  with  the  bird;  and 
even  the  gentlest  bird  itself  with  the  moth  of  air,  or  the 
worm  of  the  humble  earth  !  What  then  to  men,  and  to  the 
spirits  transcending  men,  is  so  lovely  and  so  sacred  as  a  be- 
ing that  harmeth  none  ?  what  so  beautiful  as  Innocence  ? 
what  so  mournful  as  its  untimely  tomb  ?  And  shall  not  that 
tomb  be  sacred  ?  shall  it  not  be  our  peculiar  care  ?  May 
we  not  mourn  over  it  as  at  the  passing  away  of  some  fair 
miracle  in  Nature ;  too  tender  to  endure,  too  rare  to  be  for- 
gotten ?  It  is  for  this,  O  dread  waker  of  the  blast !  that  the 
fairies  would  consecrate  this  little  spot ;  for  this  they  would 
charm  away  from  its  tranquil  turf  the  wandering  ghoul  and 
the  evil  children  of  the  night.  Here,  not  the  ill-omened 
owl,  nor  the  blind  bat,  nor  the  unclean  worm  shall  come. 
And  thou  shouldst  have  neither  will  nor  power  to  nip  the 
flowers  of  spring,  nor  sear  the  green  herbs  of  summer.  Is  it 
not,  dark  mother  of  the  evil  winds  1  is  it  not  our  immemorial 
office  to  tend  the  grave  of  innocence,  and  keep  fresh  the 
flowers  round  the  resting-place  of  Virgin  love  ?  " 

Then  the  witch  drew  her  cloak  round  her,  and  muttered 
to  herself,  and  without  further  answer  turned  away  among 
the  trees  and  vanished,  as  the  breath  of  the  east  wind 
which  goeth  with  her  as  her  comrade,  scattered  the  mel- 
ancholy leaves  along  her  path  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


Gertrude  and  Trevylyan,  when  the  former  is  awakened  to  the  approach 

of  Death. 

The  next  day,  Gertrude  and  her  companions  went  along 
the  banks  of  the  haunted  Neckar.  She  had  passed  a  sleep- 
less and  painful  night,  and  her  evanescent  and  child-like 
spirits  had  sobered  down  into  a  melancholy  and  thoughtful 
mood.     She  leaned  back  in  an  open  carriage  with  Trevylyan, 

ever  constant  by  her  side,  while   Du e   and  Vane   rode 

slowly  in  advance.  Trevylyan  tried  in  vain  to  cheer  her, 
even  his  attempts  (usually  so  eagerly  received)  to  charm  her 
duller   moments  by  tale   or  legend,  were,  in  this  instance, 


202  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

fruitless.  She  shook  her  head  gently — pressed  his  hand,  and 
said,  "  No,  dear  Trevylyan — no  ;  even  your  art  fails  to-day, 
but  your  kindness,  never  !  "  and  pressing  his  hand  to  hei 
lips,  she  burst  passionately  into  tears. 

Alarmed  and  anxious,  he  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  and 
strove  to  lift  her  face,  as  it  drooped  on  its  resting-place,  and 
kiss  away  its  tears. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  at  length,  "  do  not  despise  my  weak- 
ness, I  am  overcome  by  my  own  thoughts  ;  I  look  upon  the 
world,  and  see  that  it  is  fair  and  good ;  I  look  upon  you,  and 
I  see  all  that  I  can  venerate  and  adore.  Life  seems  to  me 
so  sweet,  and  the  earth  so  lovely ;  can  you  wonder,  then,  that 
I  should  shrink  at  the  thought  of  death  }  Nay,  interrupt  me 
not,  dear  Albert ;  the  thought  must  be  borne  and  braved.  I 
have  not  cherished,  I  have  not  yielded  to  it  through  my  long- 
increasing  illness,  but  there  have  been  times  when  it  has 
forced  itself  upon  me ;  and  now,  now  more  palpably  than 
ever.  Do  not  think  me  weak  and  childish ;  I  never  feared 
death  till  I  knew  you  ;  but  to  see  you  no  more — never  again 
to  touch  this  dear  hand — never  to  thank  you  for  your  love — • 
never  to  be  sensible  of  your  care — to  lie  down  and  sleep,  and 
never,  never  once  more  to  dream  of  you  !  Ah  !  that  is  a  bitter 
thought !  but  I  will  brave  it — yes,  brave  it  as  one  wortliy  of 
your  regard." 

Trevylyan,  choked  by  his  emotions,  covered  his  own  face 
with  his  hands,  and,  leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  vainly 
struggled  with  his  sobs. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  yet  ever  and  anon  clinging  to  the 
hope  that  had  utterly  abandoned  him,  "  perhaps,  I  may  yet 
deceive  myself ;  and  my  love  for  you,  which  seems  to  me  as 
if  it  could  conquer  death,  may  bear  me  up  against  this  fell 
disease  ; — the  hope  to  live  with  you — to  watch  you — to  share 
your  high  dreams,  and  oh  !  above  all,  to  soothe  you  in  sorrow 
and  sickness,  as  you  have  soothed  ine — has  not  that  hope 
something  that  may  support  even  this  sinking  frame  ?  And 
who  shall  love  thee  as  I  love  ?  who  see  thee  as  I  have  seen  ? 
who  pray  for  thee  in  gratitude  and  tears  as  I  have  prayed  ? 
Oh,  Albert,  so  little  am  I  jealous  of  you,  so  little  do  I  think 
of  myself  in  comparison,  that  I  could  close  my  eyes  happily 
on  the  world,  if  I  knew  that  what  I  could  be  to  thee,  anothei 
will  be  ! " 

"  Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan  ;  and  lifting  up  his  colorless 
face,  he  gazed  upon  her  with  an  earnest  and  calm  solemnity. 
"Gertrude,  let  us  be  united  at  once  !  if  Fate  must  sever  us, 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


203 


let  her  cut  the  last  tie  too  ;  let  us  feel  at  least  that  on  earth 
we  have  been  all  in  all  to  each  other  ;  let  us  defy  death,  even 
as  it  frowns  upon  us.  Be  mine  to-morrow — this  day — oh 
God  !  be  miae  !  " 

Over  even  that  pale  countenance,  beneath  whose  hues 
the  lamp  of  life  so  faintly  fluttered,  a  deep,  radiant  flash 
passed  one  moment,  lighting  up  the  beautiful  ruin  with  the 
glow  of  maiden  youth  and  impassioned  hope,  and  then  died 
rapidly  away. 

"No,  Albert,"  she  said,  sighing;  "No!  it  must  not  be : 
far  easier  would  come  the  pang  to  you,  while  yet  we  are  not 
wholly  united  ;  and  for  my  own  part,  I  am  selfish,  and  feel 
as  if  I  should  leave  a  tenderer  remembrance  on  your  heart, 
thus  parted ;  tenderer,  but  not  so  sad.  I  would  not  wish  you 
to  feel  yourself  widowed  to  my  memory  ;  I  would  not  cling 
like  a  blight  to  your  fair  prospects  of  the  future.  Remember 
me  rather  as  a  dream  ;  as  something  never  wholly  won,  and 
therefore,  asking  no  fidelity  but  that  of  kind  and  forbearing 
thoughts.  Do  you  remember  one  evening  as  we  sailed  along 
the  Rhine — ah!  happy,  happy  hour  ! — that  we  heard  from 
the  banks  a  strain  of  music,  not  so  skilfully  played  as  to  be 
worth  listening  to  for  itself,  but  suiting,  as  it  did,  the  hour 
and  the  scene,  we  remained  silent,  that  we  might  hear  it  the 
better  ;  and  when  it  died  insensibly  upon  the  waters,  a  cer- 
tain melancholy  stole  over  us  ;  we  felt  that  a  something  that 
softened  the  landscape  had  gone,  and  we  conversed  less 
lightly  than  before  ?  Just  so,  my  own  loved — my  own  adored 
Trevylyan,  just  so  is  the  influence  that  our  brief  love — your 
poor  Gertrude's  existence,  should  bequeath  to  your  remem- 
brance. A  sound — a  presence — should  haunt  you  a  little 
while,  but  no  more,  ere  you  again  become  sensible  of  the 
glories  that  court  your  way  !  " 

But  as  Gertrude  said  this,  she  turned  to  Trevylyan,  and 
seeing  his  agony,  she  could  refrain  no  longer ;  she  felt  that 
to  soothe  was  to  insult ;  and,  throwing  herself  upon  his 
breast,  they  mingled  their  tears  together. 


J 04  ^-^^^  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  spot  to  be  buried  in. 

On  their  return  homeward,  Du e  took  the  third  seat 

in  the  carriage,  and  endeavored,  v.'ith  his  usual  vivacity,  to 
cheer  the  spirits  of  his  companions  ;  and  such  was  the  elas- 
ticity of  Gertrude's  nature,  that  with  her,  he,  to  a  certain  de- 
gree, succeeded  in  his  kindly  attempt.  Quickly  alive  to  the 
charms  of  scenery,  she  entered  by  degrees  into  the  external 
beauties  which  every  turn  in  the  road  opened  to  their  view ; 
and  the  silvery  smoothness  of  the  river,  that  made  the  con- 
stant attraction  of  the  landscape  ;  the  serenity  of  the  time, 
and  the  clearness  of  the  heavens,  tended  to  tranquillize  a 
mind  that,  like  a  sunflower,  so  instinctively  turned  from  the 
shadow  to  the  light. 

Once  Du e  stopped  the  carriage  in  a  spot  of   herbage, 

bedded  among  the  trees,  and  said  to  Gertrude  :  "  We  are 
now  in  one  of  the  many  places  along  the  Neckar,  which  your 
favorite  traditions  serve  to  consecrate.  Amidst  yonder 
copses,  in  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  there  dwelt  a  hermit, 
who,  though  young  in  years,  was  renowned  for  the  sanctity  of 
his  life.  None  knew  whence  he  came,  nor  for  what  cause  he 
had  limited  the  circle  of  life  to  the  seclusion  of  his  cell.  He 
rarely  spoke,  save  when  his  ghostly  advice,  or  his  kindly 
prayer,  was  needed  :  he  lived  upon  herbs,  and  the  wild  fruits 
which  the  peasants  brought  to  his  cave  ;  and  every  morning 
and  every  evening  he  came  to  this  spot  to  fill  his  pitcher  from 
the  water  of  the  stream.  But  here  he  was  observed  to  linger 
long  after  his  task  was  done,  and  to  sit  gazing  upon  the  walls 
of  a  convent  which  then  rose  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the 
bank,  though  now  even  its  ruins  are  gone.  Gradually  his 
health  gave  way  beneath  the  austerities  he  practised ;  and  one 
evening  he  was  found  by  some  fishermen  insensible  on  the 
turf.  They  bore  him  for  medical  aid  to  the  opposite  con- 
vent !  and  one  of  the  sisterhood,  the  daughter  of  a  prince, 
was  summoned  to  tend  the  recluse.  But  when  his  eyes 
opened  upon  hers,  a  sudden  recognition  appeared  to  seize 
both.  He  spoke  ;  and  the  sister  threw  herself  on  the  couch 
of   the  dying   man,    and  shrieked  forth  a  name,    the  most 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KIlhVE. 


205 


famous  in  the  surrounding  country, — the  name  of  a  once 
noted  minstrel — who,  in  those  rude  times  liad  mingled  the 
poet  with  the  lawless  chief,  and  was  supposed,  years  since, 
to  have  fallen  in  one  of  the  desperate  frays  between  prince 
and  outlaw  which  were  then  common  ;  storming  the  very  cas- 
tle which  held  her — now  the  pious  nun,  then  the  beauty  and 
presider  over  the  tournament  and  galliard.  She  survived  but 
a  few  hours,  and  left  conjecture  busy  with  a  history  to  which 
it  never  obtained  further  clue.  Many  a  troubadour,  in  later 
times,  furnished  forth  in  poetry  the  details  which  truth  re- 
fused to  supply  ;  and  the  place  where  the  hermit  at  sunrise 
and  sunset  ever  came  to  gaze  upon  the  convent  became  con- 
secrated by  song." 

The  place  invested  with  this  legendary  interest  was  im- 
pressed with  a  singular  aspect  of  melancholy  quiet ;  wild 
flowers  yet  lingered  on  the  turf,  whose  grassy  sedges  gently 
overhung  the  Neckar,  that  murmured  amidst  them  with  a 
plaintive  music.  Not  a  wind  stirred  the  trees  ;  but,  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  place,  the  spire  of  a  church  rose  amidst  the 
copse  ;  and,  as  they  paused,  they  suddenly  heard  from  the 
holy  building  the  bell  that  summons  to  the  burial  of  the  dead. 
It  came  on  the  ear  in  such  harmony  with  the  spot,  with  the 
hour,  with  the  breathing  calm,  that  it  thrilled  to  the  heart  of 
each  with  an  inexpressible  power.  It  was  like  the  voice  of 
another  world — that  amidst  the  solitude  of  nature  summoned 
the  lulled  spirit  from  the  cares  of  this  ; — it  invited,  not  re- 
pulsed, and  had  in  its  tone  mt)re  of  softness  than  of  awe. 

Gertrude  turned,  with  tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  and,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  Trevylyan's,  whispered  : — "  In  such  a  spot, 
so  calm,  so  sequestered,  yet  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  house 
of  God,  would  I  wish  this  broken  frame  to  be  consigned  to 
rest !" 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 
The  Conclusion  of  this  Tale. 


From  that  day  •  Gertrude's  spirit  resumed  its  wonted 
cheerfulness,  and  for  the  ensuing  week  she  never  reverted  to 
her  approaching  fate;  she  seemed  once  more  to  have  grown 
unconscious  of  its  limit.     Perhaps  she  sought,    anxious   for 


2o6  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Trevylyan  to  the  last,  not  to  throw  additional  gloom  over  theit 
earthly  separation  ;  or,  perhaps,  once  steadily  regarding  the 
certainty  of  her  doom,  its  terrors  vanished.  The  chords  of 
thought,  vibrating  to  the  subtlest  emotions,  maybe  changed  by 
a  single  incident,  or  in  a  single  hour  ;  a  sound  of  sacred  music, 
a  green  and  quiet  burial  place,  may  convert  the  form  of  death 
into  the  aspect  of  an  angel.  And  therefore  wisely,  and  wdth  a 
beautiful  lore,  did  the  Greeks  strip  the  grave  of  its  unreal 
gloom  ;  wisely  did  they  body  forth  the  great  Principle  of  Rest 
by  solemn  and  lovely  images — unconscious  of  the  northern 
madness  that  made  a  Spectre  of  Repose  ! 

But  while  Gertrude's  spirit  resumed  its  healthful  tone,  her 
frame  rapidly  declined,  and  a  few  days  now  could  do  the 
ravage  of  months  a  little  while  before. 

One  evening,  amidst  the  desolate  ruins  of  Heidelberg, 
Trevylyan,  who  had  gone  forth  alone  to  indulge  the  thoughts 
which  he  strove  to  stifle  in  Gertrude's  presence,  suddenly  en- 
countered Vane.  That  calm  and  almost  callous  pupil  of  the 
adversities  of  the  world  was  standing  alone,  and  gazing  upon 
the  shattered  casements  and  riven  tower,  through  which  the 
sun  now  cast  its  slant  and  parting  ray. 

Trevylyan,  who  had  never  loved  this  cold  and  unsuscep- 
tible man,  save  for  the  sake  of  Gertrude,  felt  now  almost  a 
hatred  creep  over  him,  as  he  thought  in  such  a  time,  and  with 
death  fastening  upon  the  flower  of  her  house,  he  could  yet  be 
calm,  and  smile,  and  muse,  and  moralize,  and  play  the  com- 
mon part  of  the  world.  He  strode  slowly  up  to  him, 
and  standing  full  before  him,  said,  with  a  hollow  voice  and 
writhing  smile  :  "  You  amuse  yourself  pleasantly,  sir  ;  this 
is  a  fine  scene  ; — and  to  meditate  over  griefs  a  thousand  years 
hushed  to  rest  is  better  than  watching  over  a  sick  girl,  and 
eating  away  your  lieart  with  fear  !" 

Vane  looked  at  him  quietly,  but  intently,  and  made  no 
reply. 

"  Vane !"  continued  Trevylyan,  with  the  same  preter- 
natural attempt  at  calm  ;  "  Vane,  in  a  few  days  all  will  be 
over,  and  you  and  I,  the  things,  the  plotters,  the  false  men  of 
the  world,  will  be  left  alone — left  by  the  sole  Being  that 
graces  our  dull  life,  that  makes  by  her  love,  either  of  us  wor- 
thy of  a  thought !" 

Vane  started,  and  turned  away  his  face.  "  You  are 
cruel,"  said  he,  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  What,  man  !  "  shouted  Trevylyan,  seizing  him  abruptly 
by  the  arm,  "  can  yon  feel  ?     Is  your  cold  heart  touched  ? 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


207 


Come,  then,"  added  he,  with  a  wild  laugh,  "  come,  let  us  be 
friends  !  " 

Vane  drew  aside,  with  a  certain  dignity,  that  impressed 
Trevylyan  even  at  that  hour.  "  Some  years  hence,"  said  he, 
"  you  will  be  called  cold  as  I  am  ;  sorrow  will  teach  you  the 
wisdom  of  indifference — it  is  a  bitter  school,  sir — a  bitter 
school  !  But  think  you  that  I  do  indeed  see  unmoved  my 
last  hope  shivered — the  last  tie  that  binds  me  to  my  kind  ? 
No,  no  !  I  feel  it  as  a  man  may  feel ;  I  cloak  it  as  a  man 
grown  gray  in  misfortune  should  do  !  My  child  is  more  to 
me  than  your  betrothed  to  you  ;  for  you  are  young  and 
wealthy,  and  life  smiles  before  you  ;  but  1 — no  more — sir — • 


no  more." 


"  Forgive  me,"  said  Trevylyan,  humbly  ;  "  I  have  wronged 
you ;  but  Gertrude  is  an  excuse  for  any  crime  of  love  ;  and 
now  listen  to  my  last  prayer — give  her  to  me — even  on  the 
verge  of  the  grave.  Death  cannot  seize  her  in  the  arms — in 
the  vigils — of  a  love  like  mine." 

Vane  shuddered.  "  It  were  to  wed  the  dead,"  said  he — 
"  No  !  " 

Trevylyan  drew  back,  and  without  another  w^ord,  hurried 
away  ;  he  returned  to  the  town  ;  he  sought,  with  methodical 
calmness,  the  owner  of  the  ground  in  which  Gertrude  bod 
Avished  to  be  buried.  He  purchased  it,  and  that  very  night 
he  sought  the  priest  of  a  neighboring  church,  and  directed  it 
should  be  consecrated  according  to  the  due  rite  and  ceremo- 
nial. 

The  priest,  an  aged  and  pious  man,  was  struck  by  the  re- 
quest, and  the  air  of  him  who  made  it. 

"  Shall  it  be  done  forthwith,  sir  1  "  said  he,  hesitating. 

"  Forthwith,"  answered  Trevylyan,  with  a  calm  smile — ■ 
"  a  bridegroom,  you  know,  is  naturally  impatient." 

For  the  next  three  days,  Gertrude  was  so  ill  as  to  be  con- 
fined to  her  bed.  All  that  time  Trevylyan  sat  outside  her 
door  without  speaking,  scarcely  lifting  his  eyes  from  the 
ground.  The  attendants  passed  to  and  fro — he  heeded  them 
not ;  perlvaps  as  even  the  foreign  menials  turned  aside  and 
w^iped  their  eyes,  and  prayed  God  to  comfort  him,  he  required 
compassion  less  at  that  time  than  any  other.  There  is  a 
stupefaction  in  woe,  and  the  heart  sleeps  without  a  pang  when 
exhausted  by  its  afflictions. 

But  on  the  fourth  day  Gertrude  rose,  and  was  carried  down 
(how  changed,  yet  how  lovely  ever  !)  to  their  common  apart- 
ment.     During  those  three   days  the  priest  had  been  with 


2o8  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

her  often,  and  her  spirit,  full  of  religion  from  her  child 
hood,  had  been  unspeakably  soothed  by  his  comfort.  She 
took  food  from  the  hand  of  Trevylyan  ;  she  smiled  upon  him 
as  sweetly  as  of  old.  She  conversed  M'ith  him,  though  with 
a  faint  voice,  and  at  broken  intervals.  But  she  felt  no  pain; 
life  ebbed  away  gradually,  and  without  a  pang.  "  My  father," 
she  said  to  Vane,  whose  features  still  bore  their  usual  calm, 
whatever  might  have  passed  within,  "  I  know  that  you  will 
grieve  when  I  am  gone  more  than  the  world  might  guess  ;  for 
I  alone  know  what  you  were  years  ago,  ere  friends  left  you  and 
fortune  frowned,  and  ere  my  poor  mother  died.  But  do  not — 
do  not  believe  that  hope  and  comfort  leave  you  with  me. 
Till  the  heaven  pass  away  from  the  earth,  there  shall  be 
comfort  and  hope  for  all." 

They  did  not  lodge  in  the  town,  but  had  fixed  their  abode 
on  its  outskirts,  and  within  sight  of  the  Neckar  :  and  from  the 
window  they  saw  a  light  sail  gliding  gayly  by,  till  it  passed, 
and  solitude  once  more  rested  upon  the  waters. 

"  The  sail  passes  from  our  eyes,  "  said  Gertrude,  point- 
ing to  it,  "  but  still  it  glides  on  as  happily  though  we  see  it 
no  more ;  and  I  feel — yes,  father,  I  feel —  I  know  that  it  is 
so  with  us.  We  glide  down  the  river  of  time  from  the  eyes 
of  men,  but  we  cease  not  the  less  to  be  !  " 

And  now  as  the  twilight  descended,  she  expressed  a  wish, 
before  she  retired  to  rest,  to  be  left  alone  with  Trevylyan. 
He  was  not  then  sitting  by  her  side,  for  he  would  not  trust 
himself  to  do  so  ;  but  with  his  face  averted,  at  a  little  distance 
from  her.  She  called  him  by  his  name ;  he  answered  not  nor 
turned.  Weak  as  she  was,  she  raised  herself  from  the  sofa, 
and  crept  gently  along  the  floor  till  she  came  to  him,  and 
sank  in  his  arms. 

"  Ah,  unkind  !  "  she  said,  "  unkind  for  once  !  Will  you 
turn  away  from  me  ?  Come,  let  us  look  once  more  on  the 
river  :  see  !  the  night  darkens  over  it.  Our  pleasant  voyage, 
the  t\^pe  of  our  love,  is  finished  ;  our  sail  may  be  unfurled  no 
more.  Never  again  can  your  voice  soothe  the  lassitude  of 
sickness  with  the  legend  and  the  song — the  course  is  run,  the 
vessel  is  broken  up;  night  closes  over  its  fragments  ;  but  now, 
in  this  hour,  love  me,  be  kind  to  me  as  ever.  Still  let  me  be 
your  own  Gertrude — still  let  me  close  my  eyes  this  night,  as 
before,  with  the  sweet  consciousness  that  I  am  loved. " 

"  Loved  ! — O  Gertrude  !  speak  not  to  me  thus  !  " 

"  Come,  that  is  yourself  again  !  "  and  she  clung  with  weak 
arms  caressingly  to  his  breast.     "  And  now,  "  she  said  more 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  KIFINE. 


209 


solemnly,  "  let  us  forget  that  we  are  mortal  ;  let  us  rcme-mbcr 
only  that  life  is  a  part,  not  the  whole  of  our  career ;  let  us 
feel  in  this  soft  hour,  and  while  yet  we  are  unsevered,  the 
presence  of  The  Eternal  that  is  within  us,  so  that  it  shall  not 
be  as  death,  but  as  a  short  absence  ;  and  when  once  the  pang 
of  parting  is  over,  you  must  think  only  that  we  are  shortly  to 
meet  again.  What  !  you  turn  from  me  still  ?  See,  I  do  not 
weep  or  grieve,  I  have  conquered  the  pang  of  our  absence ; 
will  you  be  outdone  by  me  ?  Do  you  remember,  Albert,  that 
you  once  told  me  how  the  wisest  of  the  sages  of  old,  in  prison, 
and  before  death,  consoled  his  friends  with  the  proof  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul  ?  Is  it  not  consolation  ? — does  it  not 
suffice  ;  or  will  you  deem  it  wise  from  the  lips  of  wisdom,  but 
vain  from  the  lips  of  love  ?" 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  Trevylyan,  wildly  ;  "  or  I  shall  think 
you  an  angel  already.  " 

But  let  us  close  this  commune,  and  leave  unrevealed  the 
last  sacred  words  that  ever  passed  between  them  upon  earth. 

When  Vane  and  the  physician  stole  back  softly  into  the 
room,  Trevylyan  motioned  to  them  to  be  still  :  "  She  sleeps," 
he  whispered ;  "  hush  !  "  And  in  truth,  wearied  out  by  her 
own  emotions,  and  lulled  by  the  belief  that  she  had  soothed 
one  with  whom  her  heart  dwelt  now,  as  ever,  she  had  fallen 
into  sleep,  or  it  may  be,  insensibility,  on  his  breast.  There 
as  she  lay,  so  fair,  so  frail,  so  delicate,  the  twilight  deepened 
into  shade,  and  the  first  star,  like  the  hope  of  the  future, 
broke  forth  upon  the  darkness  of  the  earth. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  stillness  without,  save  that  which 
lay  breathlessly  within.  For  not  one  of  the  group  stirred  or 
spoke  ;  and  Trevylyan,  bending  over  her,  never  took  his  eyes 
from  her  face,  watching  the  parted  lips,  and  fancying  that  he 
imbibed  the  breath.  Alas  ;  the  breath  was  stilled  !  from  sleep 
to  death  she  had  glided  without  a  sigh  :  happy,  most  happy  in 
that  death  ! — cradled  in  the  arms  of  unchanged  love,  and 
brightened  in  her  last  thought  by  the   consciousness  of  inno 

cence  and  the  assurances  of  heaven  ! 

******* 


Tre\'ylyan,  after  long  sojourn  on  the  Continent,  returned 
to  England.  He  plunged  into  active  life,  and  became  what 
is  termed  in  this  age  of  little  names,  a  distinguished  and 
noted  man.  But  what  was  mainly  remarkable  in  his  future 
conduct,  was  his  impatience  of  rest.     He  eagerly  courted  all 


2IO  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIJINE. 

occupations,  even  of  the  most  varied  and  motley  kind.  Busi- 
ness,— letters, — pleasure.  He  suffered  no  pause  in  his  career  ; 
and  leisure  to  him  was  as  care  to  others.  He  lived  in  the 
world,  as  the  worldly  do,  discharging  its  duties,  fostering  its 
affections,  and  fulfdling  its  career.  But  there  was  a  deep  and 
wintry  change  within  him — the  sunlight  of  his  life  ivas  gone  ;  the 
loveliness  of  romance  had  left  the  earth.  The  stem  was 
proof  as  heretofore  to  the  blast,  but  the  green  leaves  were 
severed  from  it  forever,  and  the  bird  had  forsaken  its  boughs. 
Once  he  had  idolized  the  beauty  that  is  born  of  song  ;  the 
glory  and  the  ardor  that  invest  such  thoughts  as  are  not  of 
our  common  clay  ;  but  the  well  of  enthusiasm  was  dried  up, 
and  the  golden  bowl  was  broken  at  the  fountain.  With  Ger- 
trude the  poetry  of  existence  was  gone.  As  she  herself  had 
described  her  loss,  a  music  had  ceased  to  breathe  along  the 
face  of  things  ;  and  though  the  bark  might  sail  on  as  swiftly, 
and  the  stream  swell  with  as  proud  a  wave,  a  something  that 
had  vibrated  on  the  heart  was  still,  and  the  magic  of  the  voy- 
age was  no  more. 

And  Gertrude  sleeps  on  the  spot  where  she  wished  her 
last  couch  to  be  made  ;  and  far — oh,  far  dearer  is  that  small 
spot  on  the  distant  banks  of  the  gliding  Neckar  to  Trevyl- 
yan's  heart,  than  all  the  broad  lands  and  fertile  fields  of  his 
Ancestral  domain.  The  turf,  too,  preserves  its  emerald 
greenness  ;  and  it  would  seem  to  me  that  the  field  flowers 
spring  up  by  the  sides  of  the  simple  tomb  even  more  pro- 
fusely than  of  old.  A  curve  in  the  bank  breaks  the  tide  of 
Neckar;  and  therefore  its  stream  pauses,  as  if  to  linger  re- 
luctantly, by  that  solitary  grave,  and  to  mourn  among  the  rust- 
ling sedges  ere  it  passes  on.  And  I  have  thought,  when  I  last 
looked  upon  that  quiet  place, — when  I  saw  the  turf  so  fresh, 
and  the  flowers  so  bright  of  hue,  that  aerial  hands  might  in- 
deed tend  the  sod ;  that  it  was  by  no  imaginary  spells  that  I 
summoned  the  fairies  to  my  tale  ;  that  in  truth,  and  with 
vigils  constant  though  unseen,  they  yet  kept  from  all  pollu- 
ting footsteps,  and  from  the  harsher  influence  of  the  seasons, 
the  grave  of  one  who  so  loved  their  race  ;  and  who,  in  her 
gentle  and  spotless  virtue,  claimed  kindred  with  the  beauti- 
ful Ideal  of  the  world.  Is  there  one  of  us  who  has  not  known 
&ome  being  for  whom  it  seemed  not  too  wild  a  phantasy  to 
indulge  such  dreams  ? 


To  the  former  editions  of  this  tale  was  prefixed  a  poem  ok 
"  The  Ideal,''  which  had  all  the  worst  faults  of  the  author'' s  ear- 
liest compositions  in  verse.  The  present  poem  (jiu'th  the  exception 
cf  a  very  few  lines')  has  been  entirely  re-written,  and  has  at  least 
the  comparative  merit  of  being  less  vague  in  the  thought,  and  U'^s 
unpolished  in  the  diction,  than  that  which  it  rcplcues. 

Ems,  1849. 


THE    IDEAL    WORLD. 


I. 

THE  IDEAL  WORLD — ITS  REALM  IS  EVERYWHERE  AROUND  US — ITS  IN- 
HABITANTS ARE  THE  IMMORTAL  PERSONIFICATIONS  OF  ALL  BEAUTI- 
FUL THOUGHTS — TO  THAT  WORLD  WE  ATTAIN  BY  THE  REPOSE  OF  THE 
SENSES. 

Around  "  this  visible  diurnal  sphere," 

There  floats  a  World  that  girds  us  like  the  space  ; 
On  wandering  clouds  and  gliding  beams  career 

Its  ever-moving,  murmurous  Populace. 
There,  all  the  lovelier  thoughts  conceived  below, 

Ascending  live,  and  in  celestial  shapes. 
To  that  bright  World,  O  Mortal,  wouldst  thou  go  ? 

Bind  but  thy  senses,  and  thy  soul  escapes: 
To  care,  to  sin,  to  passion  close  thine  eyes; 
Sleep  in  the  flesh,  and  see  the  Dreamland  rise  I 
Hark,  to  the  gush  of  golden  waterfalls, 
Or  knightly  tromps  at  Archimagian  Walls  I 
In  the  green  hush  of  Dorian  Valleys  mark 

The  River  Maid  her  amber  tresses  knitting  ;— 
When  glowworms  twinkle  under  coverts  dark. 

And  silver  clouds  o'er  summer  stars  are  flitting, 
With  jocund  elves  invade  ''the  Moone's  sphere, 
Or  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear  ;  "  * 
Or,  list!  what  time  the  roseate  urns  of  dawn 

Scatter  fresh  dews,  and  the  first  skylark  weaves 
Joy  into  song — the  blithe  Arcadian  Faun 

Piping  to  wood  n\inphs  under  Bromian  leaves, 
While  slowlv  gleaming  through  the  purple  glade 
Come  Evian's  panther  car,  and  the  pale  Naxian  Maid, 

Such,  O  Ideal  World,  thy  habitants  !        *? 
All  the  fair  children  of  creative  creeds — 

*  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 


2  14  THE  IDEAL   WORLD. 

All  the  lost  tribes  of  Phantas}-  are  thine — 
Fiom  antique  Saturn  in  Dodonian  haunts, 

Or  Pan's  first  music,  waketl  from  shepherd  reeds, 
To  the  last  sprite,  when  Heaven's  pale  lamps  decline, 
Heard  wailing  soft  along  the  solemn  Rhine. 


II. 

OUR  DREAMS  BELONG  TO  THE  IDEAL — THE  DIVINER  LOVE  FOR  WHICH 
YOUTH  SIGHS,  NOT  ATTAINABLE  IN  LIFE — BUT  THE  PURSUIT  OF 
THAT  LOVE,  BEYOND  THE  WORLD  OF  THE  SENSES,  PURIFIES  THK 
SOUL,  AND  AWAKES  THE  GENIUS — PETRARCH — DANTE. 

Thine  are  the  Dreams  that  pass  the  Ivory  Gates, 

With  prophet  shadows  haunting  poet  eyes  1 
Thine  the  beloved  illusions  youth  creates 

From  the  dim  haze  of  its  own  happy  skies. 
In  vain  we  pine — we  yearn  on  earth  to  win 

The  being  of  the  heart,  our  boyhood's  dream. 
The  Psyche  and  the  Eros  ne'er  have  been. 

Save  in  Olympus,  wedded  ! — As  a  stream 
Glasses  a  star,  so  life  the  Ideal  love  ; 
Restless  the  stream  below — serene  the  orb  above  ! 
Ever  the  soul  the  senses  shall  deceive  ; 
Here  custom  chill,  there  kinder  fate  bereave  : 
For  mortal  lips  unmeet  eternal  vows  ! 
And  Eden's  flowers  for  Adam's  mournful  brows  1 
We  seek  to  make  the  moment's  angel  guest 

The  household  dweller  at  a  human  hearth  ; 
^^'e  chase  the  bird  of  Paradise,  whose  nest 

Was  never  found  amid  the  bowers  of  earth.* 
Yet  loftier  joys  the  vain  pursuit  may  bring, 

Than  sate  the  senses  with  the  boons  of  time  ; 
The  bird  of  Heaven  hath  still  an  upward  wing. 

The  steps  it  lures  and  still  the  steps  that  climb, 
And  in  the  ascent,  altho'  the  soil  be  bare, 
More  clear  the  daylight  and  more  pure  the  air, 
Let  Petrarch's  heart  the  human  mistress  lose, 
He  mourns  the  Laura,  but  to  win  the  Muse. 
Could  all  the  charms  which  Georgian  maids  combine 
Delight  the  soul  of  the  dark  Florentine, 
Like  one  chaste  dream  of  childlike  Beatrice 
Awaiting  Hell's  dark  pilgrim  in  the  skies, 
Snatch'd  from  below  to  be  the  guide  above. 
And  clothe  Religion  in  the  form  of  Love  .'  "  T 

*  According  to  a  belief  in  the  East,  which  is  associated  with  one  of 
the  loveliest  and  most  familiar  of  Oriental  superstitions,  the  bird  of 
Paiadise  is  never  seen  to  rest  upon  the  earth — and  its  nest  is  never  to  be 
found. 

t  It  is  supposed  by  many  of  the  commentators  on  Dante,  that  in  the 
form  of  his  lost  Beatrice,  who  guides  him  in  his  Vision  o£  Heaven,  he 
allegorizes  Religious  Faith. 


THE  IDEAL   WORLD.  215 

III. 

lENIUS,  LIFTING  ITS  LIFE  TO  THE  IDEAL,  BECOMES  ITSELF  A  PURE  IDEA 
— IT  MUST  COMPREHEND  ALL  EXISTENCE  ;  ALL  HUMAN  SINS  AND 
SUFFERINGS — BUT  IN  COMPREHENDING,  IT  TRANSMUTES  THEM. — THE 
POET  IN  HIS  TWOFOLD  BEING — THE  ACTUAL  AND  THE  IDEAL — THE 
INFLUENCE  OF  GENIUS  OVER  THE  STERNEST  REALITIES  OF  EARTH — 
OVER  OUR  PASSIONS — WARS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS — ITS  IDENTITY  IS 
WITH  HUMAN  PROGRESS — ITS  AGENCY,  EVEN  WHERE  UNACKNOWl^ 
EDGED,  IS  UNIVERSAL. 

O,  thou  true  Iris  !  sporting  on  thy  brow 

Of  tears  and  smiles — Jove's  herald,  Poetry  1 
Thou  reflex  image  of  all  joy  and  woe — 

Both  fused  in  h'ght  by  thy  dear  phantasy  ! 
Lo!  from  the  clay  how  Genius  lifts  its  life. 

And  grows  one  pure  Idea — one  calm  soul  I 
True,  its  own  clearness  must  reflect  our  strife  ; 

True,  its  completeness  must  comprise  our  whole : 
But  as  the  sun  transmutes  the  sullen  hues 

Of  marsh-grown  vapors  into  vermeil  dyes, 
And  melts  them  later  into  twilight  dews. 

Shedding  on  flowers  the  baptism  of  the  skies; 
So  glows  the  Ideal  in  the  air  we  breathe — 

So  from  the  fumes  of  sorrow  and  of  sin, 
Doth  its  warm  light  in  rosy  colors  wreathe 

Its  playful  cloud-land,  storing  balms  within. 

Survey  the  Poet  in  his  mortal  mould 

Man  amongst  men,  descended  from  his  throne  t 
The  moth  that  chased  the  star  now  frets  the  fold, 

Our  cares,  our  faults,  our  follies  are  his  own. 
Passions  as  idle,  and  desires  as  vain. 
Vex  the  wild  heart,  and  dupe  the  erring  brain. 
From  Freedom's  field  the  recreant  Horace  flies 
To  kiss  the  hand  by  which  his  country  dies  ; 
From  Mary's  grave  the  mighty  Peasant  turns. 
And  hoarse  with  orgies  rings  the  laugh  of  Burns 
While  Rousseau's  lips  a  lackey's  vices  own — 
Lips  that  could  draw  the  thimder  on  a  throne  1 
But  when  from  Life  the  Actual  Genius  springs, 

When,  self-transform'd  by  its  own  magic  rod. 
It  snaps  the  fetters  and  expands  the  wings. 

And  drops  the  fleshly  garb  that  veil'd  the  god, 
How  the  mists  vanish  as  the  form  ascends  !  — 
How  in  its  aureole  every  sunbeam  blends  ! 
By  the  Arch-Brightener  of  Creation  seen, 

How  dim  the  crowns  on  perishable  brows  1 
The  snows  of  Atlas  melt  beneath  the  sheen. 

Thro'  Thebaid  caves  the  rushing  splendor  flows, 
Cimmerian  glooms  with  Asian  beams  are  bright. 
And  Earth  reposes  in  a  belt  of  light- 


ai6  THE  IDEAL     WORLD. 

Now  stern  as  Vengeance  shines  the  awful  form, 

Artn'd  with  the  bolt  and  glowing  thro'  the  storm  ; 

Sets  the  great  deeps  of  human  passion  free, 

And  whelms  the  bulwarks  that  would  breast  the  sea. 

Roused  by  its  voice  the  ghastly  Wars  arise. 

Mars  reddens  earth,  the  Valkyrs  pale  the  skies  ; 

Dim  Superstition  from  her  hell  escapes, 

With  all  her  shadowy  brood  of  monster  shapes  ; 

Here  life  itself  the  scowl  of  Typhon  *  takes  ; 

There  Conscience  shudders  at  Alecto's  snakes  ; 

From  Gothic  graves  at  midnight  yawning  wide, 

In  gory  cerements  gibbering  spectres  glide; 

And  Where's  o'er  blasted  heaths  the  lightnings  flame, 

Black  secret  hags  "do  deeds  without  a  name  I  " 

Y";t  thro'  its  direst  agencies  of  awe, 

Light  marks  its  presence  and  pervades  its  law, 

And,  like  Orion  when  the  storms  are  loud, 

It  links  creation  while  it  gilds  a  cloud. 

By  ruthless  Thor,  free  Thought,  frank  Honor  stand. 

Fame's  grand  desire,  and  zeal  for  Fatherland. 

The  grim  Religion  of  Barbarian  Fear, 

With  some  Hereafter  still  connects  the  Here, 

Lifts  the  gross  sense  to  some  spiritual  source. 

And  thrones  some  Jove  above  the  Titan  Force, 

Till,  love  completing  what  in  awe  began. 

From  the  rude  savage  dawns  the  thoughtful  man. 

Then,  O  behold  the  glorious  Comforter  ! 

Still  bright'ning  worlds,  but  gladd'ning  now  the  hearth, 
Or  like  the  lustre  of  our  nearest  star, 

Fused  in  the  common  atmosphere  of  earth. 
It  sports  like  hope  upon  the  captive's  chain; 
Descends  in  dreams  upon  the  couch  of  pain 
To  wonder's  realm  allures  the  earnest  child; 
To  the  chaste  love  refines  the  instinct  wild; 
And  as  in  waters  the  reflected  beam, 
Still  where  we  turn,  glides  with  us  up  the  stream ; 
And  while  in  truth  the  whole  expanse  is  bright, 
Yields  to  each  eye  its  own  fond  path  of  light, 
So  over  life  the  rays  of  Genius  fall, 
Give  each  his  track  because  illuming  alL 

IV. 

FORGIVENESS  TO  THE   ERRORS  OF  OUR   BENEFACTORS. 

Hence  is  that  secret  pardon  we  bestow 
In  the  true  instinct  of  the  grateful  heart, 

•  The  gloomy  Typhon  of  Egypt  assumes  many  of  the  mystic  attributei 
of  the  Principle  of  Life  which,  'in  the  Grecian  Apotheosis'  of  the  Indian 
Bacchus,  is  represented  in  so  genial  a  character  of  exuberant  joy  and 
everlasting  youth. 


THE  IDEAL   WORLD.  217 

Upon  the  Sons  of  Song.     The  good  they  do 

In  the  clear  world  of  their  Uranian  ait 
Enilures  forever  ;  while  the  evil  done 

In  the  poor  drama  of  their  mortal  scene, 
Is  but  a  passing  cloud  before  tlie  sun  ; 

Space  halh  no  record  where  the  mist  hath  been. 
Boots  it  to  us.  if  Shakspeare  err'd  like  man  ? 

Wliy  idly  question  that  most  mystic  life  ? 
Eno'  the  giver  in  his  gifts  to  scan; 

To  bless  the  sheaves  with  which  thy  fields  are  rife, 
Nor,  blundering,  guess  thro'  what  obstructive  clay 
The  glorious  corn-seed  struggled  up  to  day. 


y. 

THE  IDEAL  IS  NOT  CONFINED  TO  POETS — ALGERNON  SIDNEY  RECOG- 
NIZES HIS  IDEAL  IN  LIBERTY,  AND  BELIEVES  IN  ITS  TRIUMTH  WHERE 
IHE  MERE  PRACTICAL  MAN  COULD  BEHOLD  BUT  ITS  RUINS — YET 
LIBERTY  IN  THIS  WORLD  MUST  EVER  BE  AN  IDEAL,  A.VD  THE  LANE 
THAT  IT    PROMISES  CAN    BE  FOUND  BUT  IN  DEATH. 

But  not  to  you  alone,  O  Sons  of  Song, 
The  wings  that  float  the  loftier  airs  along. 
Whoever  lifts  us  from  the  dust  we  are, 

Beyond  the  sensual  to  spiritual  goals  ; 
Who  from  the  Moment  and  the  Self  afar 

By  deathless  deeds  allures  reluctant  souls, 
Gives  the  warm  life  to  what  the  Limner  draws, 
Plato  but  thought  what  god-like  Cato  was.* 
Recall  the  wars  of  England's  giant  born, 

Is  Elyot's  voice — is  Hamj)den's  death  in  vain? 
Have  all  the  meteors  of  the  vernal  morn 

But  wasted  light  upon  a  frozen  main  ? 
Where  is  that  child  of  Carnage,  Freedom,  flown  ? 
The  Sybarite  lolls  upon  the  Martyr's  throne. 
Lewd,  ribald  jests  succeed  to  solemn  zeal  : 
And  things  of  silk  to  Cromwell's  men  of  steel. 
Cold  are  the  hosts  the  tromps  of  Ireton  thrill'd, 
And  hush'd  the  senates  Vane's  large  presence  fill'd. 
In  what  strong  heart  doth  the  old  manhood  dwell  ? 
Where  art  thou.  Freedom? — Look — in  Sidney's  cell  ! 
There  still  as  stately  stands  the  living  Truth, 
Smiling  on  age  as  it  had  smiled  on  youth. 
Her  forts  dismantled,  and  her  shrines  o'erthrown, 
The  headsman's  block  her  last  dread  altar-stone, 
No  sanction  left  to  Reason's  vulgar  hope — 
Far  from  the  wrecks  expands  her  prophet's  scope. 
Millennial  morns  the  tombs  of  Kedron  gild, 
The  hands  of  saints  the  glorious  walls  rebuild,  - 
Till  ea'ch  foundation  garnish'd  with  its  gem, 
High  o'er  Gelienna  flames  Jerusalem  1 

•  "  What  Plato  thought,  and  god-like  Cato  was."— Pope 


ai8  THE  IDEAL   WORLD. 

O  thou  blood-stain'd  Ideal  of  the  free, 

Whose  breath  is  heard  in  clarions — Liberty  I 

Sublimer  for  thy  grand  illusions  past, 

Thou  spring'st  to  Heaven — Religion  at  the  last. 

Alike  below,  or  commonwealths,  or  thrones, 

Where'er  men  gather  some  crush'd  victim  groans  , 

Only  in  death  thy  real  form  we  see. 

All  life  is  bondage — souls  alone  are  free. 

I'hus  through  the  waste  the  wandering  Hebrews  went, 

Fire  on  the  march,  but  cloud  upon  the  tent. 

At  last  on  Pisgah  see  the  Prophet  stand. 

Before  his  vision  spreads  the  Promised  Land; 

But  where  reveal' d  the  Canaan  to  his  eye  ? — 

Upon  the  mountain  he  ascends  to  die. 

VI. 

YET  ALL  HAVE  TWO  ESCAPES  INTO  THE  IDEAL  WORLD — VIZ  MEMORY 
AND  HOPE — EXAMPLE  OF  HOPE  IN  YOUTH,  HOWEVER  EXCLUDEE 
FROM   ACTION  AND   DESIRE — NAPOLEON's   SON. 

Yet  whatsoever  be  our  bondage  here, 
All  have  two  portals  to  the  Phantom  sphere, — 
Who  hath  not  glided  through  those  gates  that  ope, 
Beyond  the  Hour,  to  Memory  or  to  Hope! 
Give  Youth  the  Garden, — still  it  soars  above — 
Seeks  some  far  glory — some  diviner  love. 
Place  Age  amidst  the  Golgotha — its  eyes 
Still  quit  the  graves,  to  rest  upon  the  skies  ; 
And  while  the  dust,  unheeded,  moulders  there, 
Track  some  lost  angel  through  cerulean  air. 

Lo  !  where  the  Austrian  binds,  with  formal  chain, 
The  crownless  son  of  earth's  last  Charlemain — 
Him,  at  whose  birth  laugh'd  all  the  violet  vales 

(While  yet  unfallen  stood  thy  sovereign  star, 
O  Lucifer  of  Nations) — hark,  the  gales 

Swell  with  the  shout  from  all  the  hosts,  whose  war 
Rended  the  Alps,  and  crimson'd  Memphian  Nile — 

"  Way  for  the  coming  of  the  Conqueror's  Son  : 
Woe  to  the  Merchant-Carthage  of  the  Isle  I 

Woe  to  the  Scythian  Ice-world  of  the  Don  ! 
O  Thunder  Lord,  thy  Lemnian  bolts  prepare, 
The  Eagle's  eyrie  hath  its  eagle  heir  !  " 
Hark,  at  that  shout  from  north  to  south,  gray  Power 

Quails  on  its  weak,  hereditary  thrones  ; 
And  widow'd  mothers  prophesy  the  hour 

Of  future  carnage  to  their  cradled  sons. 
What  !  shall  our  race  to  blood  be  thus  consign'd, 
And  Ate  claim  an  heirloom  in  mankind  t 
Are  these  red  lots  unshaken  in  the  urn  ? 
Years  pass — approach,  pale  Questioner — and  learn; 
Chain'd  to  his  rock,  with  brows  that  vainly  frown, 
The  fallen  Titan  sinks   n  darkness  down  1 


THE  IDEAL   WORLD.  21^ 

And  sadly  gazing  through  his  gilded  grate, 
Behold  the  child  whose  birth  was  as  a  fate  I 
l^ar  from  the  land  in  which  his  life  began  ; 
Wall'd  from  the  healthful  air  of  hardy  man  ; 
Rcar'd  by  cold  hearts,  and  watch'd  by  jealous  eyes, 
His  guardiaiis  gaolers,  and  his  comrades  spies. 
Each  trite  convention  courtly  fears  inspire 
To  stint  experience  and  to  dwarf  desire  ; 
Narrows  the  action  to  a  puppet  stage, 
And  trains  the  eaglet  to  the  starling's  cage. 
On  the  dejected  brow  and  smileless  cheek, 
What  weary  thought  the  languid  lines  bespeak; 
Till  drop  by  drop,  from  jaded  day  to  day. 
The  sickly  life-streams  ooze  themselves  away. 

Yet  oft  in  Hope  a  boundless  realm  was  thine. 
That  vaguest  infinite — the  Dream  of  Fame  ; 

Son  of  the  sword  that  first  made  kings  divine, 

Heir  to  man's  grandest  royalty — a  Name  ! 
Then  didst  thou  burst  upon  the  startled  world. 

And  keep  the  glorious  promise  of  thy  birth  ; 
Then  were  the  wings  that  bear  the  bolt  unfurl'd, 

A  monarch's  voice  cried   "Place  upon  the  Earth  ! 
A  new  Philippi  gain'd  a  second  Rome. 
And  the  Son's  sword  avenged  the  greater  Caesar's  doom 


vn. 

EXAMPLE  OF  MEMORY  AS  LEADING  TO  THE  IDEAL — AMIDST  LIFE  HOW- 
EVER HUMBLE,  AND  IN  A  MIND  HOWEVER  IGNORANT — THE  VILLAGB 
WIDOVk?. 

But  turn  the  eye  to  Life's  sequester'd  vale, 
And  lowly  roofs  remote  in  hamlets  green. 
Oft  in  my  boyhood  where  the  moss-grown  pale 

Fenced  quiet  graves,  a  female  form  was  seen  ; 
Each  eve  she  sought  the  melancholy  ground. 
And  lingering  paused,  and  wistful  look'd  around 
If  yet  some  footstep  rustled  thro'  the  grass, 
Timorous  she  shrunk,  and  watch'd  the  shadow  pass. 
Then,  when  the  spot  lay  lone  amidst  the  gloom, 
Crept  to  one  grave  too  humble  for  a  tomb. 
There  silent  bow'd  her  face  alcove  the  dead, 
For,  if  in  prayer,  the  prayer  was  inly  said , 
Still  as  the  moonbeam,  paused  her  quiet  shade, 
Still  as  the  moonbeam,  thro'  the  yews  to  fade. 
Whose  dust  thus  hallow'd  by  so  fond  a  care  ? 
What  the  grave  saith  not — let  the  heart  declare. 
On  yonder  green  two  orphan  children  play'd  ; 
By  yonder  rill  two  plighted  lovers  stray'd. 
In  yonder  shrine  two  lives  were  blent  in  one, 
And  joy-bells  chimed  beneath  a  summer  sun. 
Poor  was  their  lot — their  bread  in  labor  found  ; 
No  parent  bless'd  them,  and  no  kindred  own'd ; 


7  20  THE  IDEAL   WORLD. 

They  smiled  to  hear  the  wise  their  choice  condemn  ; 

They  loved — they  loved — and  love  was  wealth  to  them 

Hark — one  short  week — again  the  holy  bell  ! 

Still  shone  the  sun;   but  dirge-like  booni'd  the  knell 

The  icy  hand  had  sever'd  breast  from  breast ; 

Left  Life  to  toil,  and  sumnion'd  Death  to  rest. 

Full  fifty  years  since  then  have  pass'd  away. 

Her  cheek  is  furrow'd,  and  her  hair  is  gray, 

Yet,  when  she  speaks  of  him  (the  times  are  rare), 

Hear  in  her  voice  how  youth  still  trembles  there 

The  very  name  of  that  young  life  that  died, 

Still  heaves  the  bosom,  and  recalls  the  bride. 

1-one  o'er  the  widow's  hearth  those  years  have  fled, 

The  daily  toil  still  wins  the  daily  bread  ; 

No  books  deck  sorrow  with  fantastic  dyes  : 

Her  fond  romance  her  woman  heart  supplies; 

And,  haplv  in  the  few  still  moments  given, 

(Day's  taskwork  done) — to  memory,  death,  and  heaven, 

To  that  unutter'd  ])oem  may  belong 

Thoughts  of  such  pathos  as  had  beggar'd  song. 

VHL 

HENCE   IN   HOPE,    MEMORY,    AND   PRAYER,   ALL  OF   US   ARE   POETS, 

Yes,  while  thou  hopest,  music  fills  the  air, 

While  thou  rememberest,  life  reclothes  the  clod; 
While  thou  canst  feel  the  electric  chain  of  prayer, 

Breathe  but  a  thought,  and  be  a  soul  with  God  I 
Let  not  these  forms  of  matter  bound  thine  eye, 

He  who  the  vanishing  point  of  Human  things 
Lifts  from  the  landscape — lost  amidst  the  sky. 

Has  found  the  Ideal  which  the  poet  sings — 
Has  pierced  the  pall  around  the  senses  thrown. 
And  is  himself  a  poet — tho'  unknown. 

IX. 

APPLICATION  OF  THE  POEM  TO  THE  TALE  TO  WHICH  IT  IS  PREFIXED 
—THE  RHINE — ITS  IDEAL  CHARACTER  IN  ITS  HISTORICAL  ANU 
LEGENDARY   ASSOCIATIONS. 

Eno'  ! — my  song  is  closing,  and  to  thee, 

Land  of  the  North,  I  dedicate  its  lay ; 
As  I  have  done  the  simple  tale  to  be 

The  drama  of  this  prelude  ! — 

Far  away 
Rolls  the  swift  Rhine  beneath  the  starry  ray  ; 
But  to  my  ear  its  haunted  waters  sigh  ; 
Its  moonlit  mountains  glimmer  on  my  eye  ; 
On  wave,  on  marge,  as  on  a  wizard's  glass. 
Imperial  ghosts  in  dim  procession  pass  j 


rilE  IDEAL   WORLD.  221 

Lords  of  the  wild— the  first  great  Fatlier-men, 
Their  fane  the  hill  top— and  their  honne  the  glen 
p'rowning  they  fade— a  bridge  of  steel  appears 
With  frank-eyed  Caesar  smiling  thro'  the  spears  ; 
Tiie  march  moves  onwards,  and  the  mirror  brings 
The  Ciothic  crowns  of  Carlovingian  kings  : 
Vanish'd  alike!     The  Hermit  rears  his  Cross, 
And  barbs  neigh  shrill,  and  plumes  in  tumult  toss, 
While  (knighthood's  sole  sweet  conquest  from  the  Moor) 
Sings  to  Arabian  lutes  the  Troubadour. 

Not  yet,  not  yet — still  glide  some  lingering  shades — 
Still  breathe  some  murmurs  as  the  starlight  fades — 
Still  from  her  rock  I  hear  the  Siren  call, 
And  see  the  tender  ghost  in  Roland's  mouldering  hall ! 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  POEM  CONTINUED — THE  IDEAL  LENDS  ITS  AIH 
TO  THE  MUST  FAMILAR  AND  THE  MOST  ACTUAL  SOKROW  OK  I.I  KB 
— FICTION      COMPARED       TO     SLEEP — IT      STRENGTHENS       WHILE      11 


SOOTHES. 


Trite  were  the  tale  I  tell  of  love  and  doom, 

(Whose  life  hath  loved  not,  whose  not  mourn'd  a  tomb?) 

But  fiction  draws  a  poetry  from  grief, 

As  art  its  healing  from  thewitlier'd  leaf. 

Piay  thou,  sweet  P'ancy,  round  the  sombre  truth, 

Crown  the  sad  Genius  ere  it  lower  the  torch  I 
When  death  the  altar,  and  the  victim  youth. 

Flutes  fill  the  air,  and  garlands  deck  the  porch. 
As  down  the  river  drifts  the  Pilgrim  sail. 
Clothe  the  rude  hill-tops,  lull  the  Northern  gale 
With  childlike  lore  the  fatal  course  beguile. 
And  brighten  death  with  Love's  untiring  smile 
Along  the  banks  let  fairy  forms  be  seen 
"  By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  starlight  sheen." 
Let' sound  and  shape  to  which  the  sense  is  dull, 
Haunt  the  soul  opening  on  the  Beautiful, 
And  when  at  length,  the  symbol  voyage  done,— 
Surviving  Grief  shrinks  lonely  from  the  sun. 
By  tender  types  show  Grief  what  memories  bloom 
From  lost  delight — what  fairies  guard  the  tomb. 
Scorn  not  the  dream,  O  world-worn, — pause  awhile, 
New  strength  shall  nerve  thee  as  the  dreams  beguile, 
Strung  by  the  rest — less  far  shall  seem  the  goal  1 
As  sleep  to  life,  so  fiction  to  the  soul. 

•  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 


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